


The Silver Blue

by winterwarlock



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky is a city slicker, Coming Out, Depression, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Steve is a country boy, Suicidal Thoughts, Summer is practically a character, car crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwarlock/pseuds/winterwarlock
Summary: Bucky feels himself accelerating down the one-lane road in his old black Camaro but when he looks at his hands on the wheel they don't feel like his. He has never done something like this before, just getting in his car and leaving the city with no destination in mind. He can't go back. Back to the mundane job, the empty life, the endless cycle of work-eat-sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this work over a year ago to help myself through some hard times. It's been a long road but I'm glad it's finally ready to share!
> 
> Please heed the tags! Also, here is a Spotify playlist you can listen to while reading if you're interested! https://spoti.fi/2O6GiEP

The moonlight bathes him in a soft silver blue. Wind runs over his cheeks and through his hair. He feels alive and yet not. The moonlight creates a dichotomy of colors around him; where it hits the ground there's a luminous blue glow and where it casts shadows, a void black. The shadows reach out in spindly claws. None of it feels real.

Bucky thinks of home, if he could even call it that. His messy apartment flashes through his mind but he can't make himself turn around.

Bucky feels himself accelerating in his old black camaro down the one-lane road but when he looks at his hands on the wheel they don't feel like his. He has never done something like this before, just getting in his car and leaving the city with no destination in mind.

He can't go back. Back to the mundane job, the empty life, the endless cycle of work-eat-sleep.

He isn't sure how long he's been driving for, but Bucky hasn't recognized any street names for a long time. His tank had been almost full when he'd left his apartment and now he has barely a quarter left. His eyes start to droop dangerously and he knows he needs to find a place to stop soon. He isn't necessarily very attached to living, but he doesn't want to be the dick who leaves a wrecked car and mangled body for someone else to clean up.

Up on the right there's a sign announcing the name of the town he's now entering—Brooklyn, population 2,000. Bucky hadn't realized there were other Brooklyns in America and he finds it particularly unfortunate that such a small town shares a name with one of the most famous cities in the country.

"Brooklyn Welcomes You!" The sign reads in shimmering gold cursive. The sign looks well maintained, with a fresh coat of white paint and bright LEDs illuminating the decorative work. It's beautiful and perfect and so out of place on this little back road. Bucky's interest is piqued and he figures this is as good a place as any to end his impromptu road trip.

Beyond the sign is main street, populated with quant little colonial style buildings. It looks like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life and not for the first time tonight does Bucky wonder if any of this is real or if he somehow stumbled into a different reality. He looks down at the magic glow of the moonlight washing over his skin.

All of the buildings are dark inside and Bucky can tell the town is asleep. He looks at the clock on his dashboard and realizes it's nearly midnight. He had left his apartment at eight.

Bucky is starting to give up hope that Brooklyn is large enough to have some kind of public housing when he sees a small sign for a Moonlight Motel pointing down 6th street. 

The motel is a bit further away from main street than he expected and as he approaches he can see why. The small parking lot is all gravel. The motel itself has only one story and ten rooms. The faded blue paint is peeling away from the walls to reveal the disenchanting construction beneath it. One street lamp stands by the main office but the lot is otherwise dark. All of the charm of main street seems forgotten here. It almost makes Bucky sad to see that the only part of town the citizens think is deserving of attention is what random outsiders driving through would see. Yet, his total numbness tamps down any other emotion.

For a moment Bucky thinks the motel office is closed and that he'll have to sleep in his car, but then spots a light on through a small window.

A bell dings above him as he gingerly pushes the dull gray door open. A young man looks up from the magazine he has splayed out on the desk—Field & Stream, the "Classic American Summer" issue.

The young man's eyes go wide when he sees Bucky.

"Can I help you?" He asks in a timid voice.

Bucky can't help but arch an eyebrow at the kid—why else would he be at a motel in the middle of the night if not in need of a room? But the "concierge," if you can call a motel employee that, looks barely older than sixteen so Bucky cuts him some slack.

"I'd like a room for the night, please."

"Fifty dollars."

Bucky forks over the cash and the boy, Peter (so says his name tag), passes over a rusty bronze key attached to a red rubble bauble with the number 7 on it in chipped white paint.

 _Lucky number_ seven, Bucky thinks absently. He waits a beat to see if Peter has anything else to say, but the teenager just returns to his magazine.

As soon as Bucky steps back into the cool summer night, he feels his body release tension he hadn't realized it'd been holding. He actually up and left his home, his job, his  _life_ (if one could even call his half-assed existence living.)

It hits him then that no one out here knows who he is. Sure, Peter had spoken to him but he hadn't asked Bucky what he's doing all the way out here in bumfuck America or even his name.

Out here in Brooklyn, Bucky doesn't exist. He's free.

Tomorrow, he can sleep till noon. He can keep driving, on to a different forgotten slice of America. He can go into every building on main street. He doesn't have to respond to emails or proofread another document. He can do nothing at all.

Bucky feels so free he's drunk and numb with it at the same time. His shaking hands don't feel like his and his tongue is tingling, though whether that's real he can't tell. Bucky can't remember the last time he felt like this and his brain is struggling to process the break in routine.

Bucky grabs him phone from his car and paces across the chunky gravel to room seven. It takes jiggling the handle to pop the door open. Behind it lays the most drab motel room Bucky has ever laid eyes on.

The room isn't much larger than his walk-in closet at home. A double bed sits in the middle of the room, covered in a sad brown quilt. The sheets underneath are beige with an autumn-colored ornate floral pattern. The white walls look sickly cream in the dim glow of the lamplight, which has a shade that matches the bedspread.

One dresser stands up against the wall across the from the bed. The upper right-hand knob is missing. A small TV is sitting on top of it. A mismatched nightstand is sitting at the right side of the bed and holds another lamp.

The bathroom is bare. Upon inspection, Bucky realizes the shower head only comes up to his chest. There are no complimentary toiletries.

 _At least it's clean,_ Bucky muses. It's more than he can say for his own bathroom.

He flicks the TV onto a random channel and strips down to his boxers. Something about lying fully nude on the bed makes his skin crawl, but he doesn't have any change of clothes with him.

Bucky opens the email app on his phone and sends a quick note to his boss that he'll have to take off the remainder of the week and possibly more (the perks of never using vacation or sick time) due to a family emergency. No one at work has to know that Bucky hasn't seen or spoke to his family in seven years, having left his childhood home for good after he graduated from high school.

As soon as he turns his phone off, he feels his body melt with exhaustion into the firm mattress. The voice on TV lull him into a restless sleep, the only tradition from his life that seems to follow him Brooklyn.

——

Bucky wakes up to sunlight streaming through thin curtains. His attention turns first to the TV that's still on. A soap opera is playing.  _Days of Our Lives,_ the TV guide reads.

Bucky picks his phone up off the dresser and turn it on.. 11:03 flashes on the screen. He doesn't know the last time he slept in this late. He knows he should feel bad that he lief to his boss so he could skip out on work just to sleep in but he cannot bring himself to care. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but he just doesn't care about anything anymore. Why not add playing hooky to the list of things he should care about but doesn't? It can't be worse than letting his apartment go to shit or ignoring the few friends he has just to hole up in his "depression cave."

He has a few email notifications from his boss and other requests which he can ignore in peace since he had dutifully turned on his out of office replies the night before. His boss had responded to tell him to take as much time as he needed, reminding him not for the first time how many vacations hours he had saved, and letting him know that if Bucky needs anything all he has to do is ask.

Although half of him is begging to stay in bed all day, Bucky decides to venture to main street. He's hungry and since he can't remember the last time he ate, he knows he needs to find some kind of food. He also figures he should find a change of clothes somewhere, although he's not sure it really matters.

Bucky's not sure what to expect when he steps out of his motel room, but a normal sunny day really isn't it. He figures he had still been half-believing Brooklyn was in some moonlit alternate dimension, or maybe even a figment of his imagination. Despite knowing the sun had risen, he almost feels loss at not sensing the tranquil touch of silver blue against his numb skin.

He decides to walk to main street, since he can see it from the Moonlight anyway. It takes about five minutes and he's in the heart of town, where cars are chugging along and people are meandering the streets. Bucky feels eyes on him as he walks, people casting him sideways glances and whispering to their friends. He wants to believe he's just imagining it, but for once he doesn't think he's being hypersensitive to the judging eyes of others. He know it's because he nots from this small town. A town of 2,000 people will hone in on a newcomer instantly. That knowledge does not make him feel better, though.

To distract himself, Bucky tries to focus on all of the buildings along main street. There's a doctor's office, a dentist's office, a law firm, an All State insurance office, a landscaping company, a construction company, a hardware store, a hair salon, a small public library, and a number of quaint townhouses and apartment buildings. When he looks further down main street, he can see off in the distance a large, elegant building, most likely town hall.

As he approaches first & main, he comes across the Brooklyn General Store. He hasn't seen any other place that might sell food, so he ducks into the building. A bell dings above his head.

The store has five aisles full of groceries, an aisle for home goods and toiletries, and a deli counter. He wanders up and down the food aisles, grabbing a few different snacks to keep in his and car, as well as a toothbrush and toothpaste. Once he's got a few items, he orders a sandwich from the deli.

As he walks up to the cash register he notices the cashier and stops in his tracks. Whom he can only describe as the most beautiful man he's ever seen stands listlessly at the register. He perks up when Bucky sets down his things on the counter. Bucky can't help but take in his broad shoulders and trim waist, or the way his blonde hair flops into his bright blue eyes.

"Hi," the man says.

"Hi," Bucky returns, feeling an involuntary blush spreading on his cheeks.

"You're not from here," the man points out.

"Um, no," Bucky returns, unsure of what this guy wants him to say.

"Is that camaro at the Moonlight yours, then? Everyone's been talking about it. It's pretty nice," the cashier continues. Bucky doesn't really know how to respond. He doesn't know why this guy cares, or how he knows what car Bucky drives, or that Bucky is staying at the Moonlight. In New York City, no one cares. Neighbors don't snoop on each other or ask questions. They just go about their days, shuffling from one place to the next.

"Thanks," Bucky says quietly, entirely lost.

"Well, what're you doing in Brooklyn?" The blond goes on, like asking strangers personal questions is normal. Maybe here it is.

"I'm... on vacation," Bucky says, unable to come up with an excuse that's any better.

"You're on vacation and you didn't bring a toothbrush?"

"Um... it was spontaneous?"

The cashier gives Bucky a small smile and Bucky knows the man doesn't believe him. It doesn't bother him though—something about the blond's presence is calming.

"We don't get many vacationers here in Brooklyn. Folks get curious." The man tells Bucky. "What's your name?"

"Bucky," He answers. "Thanks for the heads up."

"Bucky?" The cashier cocks one blond eyebrow.

"Childhood nickname. Couldn't shake it."

"I'm Steve. Nice to meet you, Bucky," Steve offers a broad hand to Bucky, shaking firmly. Bucky is mildly panicking, because he hadn't been planning on telling anyone who he is. He likes the feeling of being completely anonymous. But Steve is giving him such a bright smile that his privacy doesn't feel so important now.

"Bye, Steve," Bucky says as he pushes open the front door. The muscular blond gives him a short wave and a bright smile.

Bucky's next task is finding a clothing store. He doesn't plan on doing anything for however long he stays here, but he figures he might as well have a few changes of clothes.

There are more side streets that make up the downtown area than Bucky is expecting, but it doesn't take long for him to find the thrift store on second & king's street.

It's small but well stocked. Bucky finds four flannels, a half dozen t-shirts, and three pairs of blue jeans. He also picks up a new pack of socks and boxers, as well as a throw blanket to use instead of the "clean" comforter in his motel room.

Bucky returns to the motel after that. He knows he shouldn't hole up in his room, but this is his "I don't exist and therefore I can do what I want" tour of America. And what he wants to do is lay down.

Bucky falls asleep in his room during the second hour of the  _Days of Our Lives_ marathon.

——

At five a.m., Bucky's empty stomach gurgles violently and lurches him into consciousness.

Groggy and confused, he rolls over and checks the time on his phone. He's received a handful of emails since he had reached out to his boss the day before, but he doesn't care to read any of them.

Bucky steps into the bathroom and takes a hard look at himself in the mirror. He doesn't typically like looking for more than seconds at a time—the words  _disappointment_ and  _waste_ always flash through his mind—but he wants to know if he looks the way he remembers, if he's still real. He is starting to grow stubble in on his chin and cheeks, but his hair is as short as he remembers it being. He thinks he wouldn't mind growing it out, if not for the grooming policy at his job.

His gray eyes look tired.

Bucky climbs in the small shower and turns the water on as hot as he can make it. He closes his eyes and lets the water beat down against his skin. The motel has surprisingly good water pressure. A hot shower is the easiest place for Bucky to lose himself—the feeling and the sound make it effortless for him to quiet his mind and, just for a bit, the crushing weight he always feels in his chest seems to dissipate.

Bucky isn't sure how long he's stood in the shower but finally he snaps out of his stupor when the water turns biting cold. He quickly rinses his hair and jumps out.

When he steps back into his room, Bucky sees the sun has started to rise. He must have been in the shower for at least an hour. He puts on some of his new clothes and sends a text to his two closest work friends, Gabe and Natasha, that things are going okay but he doesn't know when he'll be coming back. He specifically avoids the use of the word "home."

Bucky doesn't particularly feel like leaving but his stomach is beginning to clench in on itself and he knows he needs breakfast. He figures he can go back to the general store, remembering that the deli counter had a breakfast menu. He doesn't miss the way his heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing Steve, unable to shake the man's bright smile from his mind, no matter how much he wants to. The last thing he needs is to get attached to some random guy in some random town but Bucky has never been able to help himself.

Steve is at the register again, looking like he's still shaking off the last remnants of sleep. It's adorable, really. His hair is still a little tousled, a cowlick sticking up straight. When he blinks slow and sleepy, Bucky's heart pounds a little faster.

"For someone on vacation, you're awake early," Steve comments with a tired smile.

"I had an early night," Bucky says.

"Got any plans today?"

"I was going to ask what you'd recommend." It's a lie, but Bucky has to keep up the farce of functioning adult.

"Well, town half is beautiful and it has a small exhibit on the town's history. The town has a lot of old architecture that's nice to look at. There's also a lot of hiking trails and rivers that are beautiful. You can rent kayaks and canoes at a store nearby."

"I don't think I'm much for kayaking. I'll pass."

Steve's twinkling laugh makes Bucky's heart swoop.

Bucky hadn't realized that Steve had rung up his breakfast and is waiting for Bucky, as he's too busy wondering about what Steve might like to do. For a moment he thinks he's imagining the flirtatious tone between the tone of them, but suddenly Steve is leaning closer across the counter and looks up at Bucky through long lashes.

Bucky hands over his credit card. Truthfully, he had been planning on returning to the motel and hopefully finding  _Days of Our Lives_ on TV somewhere. It was starting to get good.

"I get off at three. I could show you around if you want. There's a great bar on crown street. Good happy hour," Steve offers.

Bucky keeps his expression carefully blank but his mind is kicking into overdrive. A gorgeous man is offering to spend time with Bucky, a stranger who looks like he had hitched a ride here in rickety train car.

"Sure, sounds nice," Bucky says, trying not to sound too interested. He feels tired all the way down to his bones and he really just wants to disappear, but something is keeping him from saying no to Steve. He isn't sure what.

"How about I come by the Moonlight at four? What room are you in?" Steve asks.

"Seven."

"Lucky," Steve says with a sweet smile, waving as Bucky walks out of the general store.

As Bucky walks back to the motel, he wonders why Steve could possible want to spend time with him. He's weird. Maybe Steve can tell there's something sad about Bucky and he's taking pity on Bucky. He doesn't want to think too much about it or he knows he'll disappear down the rabbit hole of self loathing.

Bucky drifts in and out of consciousness on his bed as he waits for four o'clock to roll around. He feels bone-tired despite having done nothing all day. He tries to sleep and stay asleep, but despite his exhaustion he just can't. He can't help but fixate on his looming "date" with Steve. His chest feels ever tighter as four approaches. His mind is screaming at him to cancel but he doesn't even have Steve's number.

A knock at his door startles Bucky into awareness. He jumps out of bed and pulls on his jeans quickly.

"Hi, Steve," Bucky says, stepping quickly out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

"Hi, Bucky," Steve returns. "I thought we'd go by town hall first so I can show you the museum. Then we can head over to Fury's."

"Okay," Bucky says with a nod. It's not like he's in a position to suggest something else.

The anxiety Bucky has been feeling slowly ebbs as he and Steve walk toward the town hall. He isn't sure what it is, but he feels something like safety when he's near Steve.

"So, Brooklyn was founded in 1756," Steve says as they walk. The closer they get, the more Bucky can appreciate the beautiful white structure. It reminds him of the sign at the entrance of the city. It's freshly painted a gleaming white and Bucky can see the brilliant red front door a mile away. The shutters on the large windows are black and an ornate gold chandelier hangs down from the white awning over the main porch. Thick, elegant columns support the awning. A dramatic staircase leads up to the porch from the clean sidewalk. The well-manicured lawn surrounding the town hall spreads out to the left and right and disappears into thick, green forests.

Bucky finds it hard to reconcile this side of Brooklyn with the Moonlight. This is lavish and grand while the Moonlight is dilapidated and forgotten. Bucky glances over at Steve at the thought, who gives Bucky another beaming smile.

The lobby of town hall is just as elaborate as the outside. The ceiling is vaulted and pristine crown molding adorns the white walls. A large mahogany staircase leads upstairs and is covered with a plush red carpet. An old woman sits at a desk to the right of the front doors. The desk has a dark granite counter, installed in one slab.

"Hi, Margie," Steve says to the woman.

"Hello, Dear," she returns. "Tell your mother I said hello."

"Of course, ma'am."

 _Damn,_ Steve is polite. Bucky hasn't called anyone ma'am since he was thirteen.

They hang a left and Bucky can see a little exhibit up ahead of them behind big, open wooden doors.

"Welcome to Brooklyn," Steve says with a wink as they step over the threshold.

They start at a large portrait of a small hill, the sun shining on a green field and fluffy white clouds rolling through a blue sky.

"This is the original Brooklyn house, built by the Brooklyn family in 1756. They founded the town. Their house is still standing, about a mile west of here."

Bucky nods as they drift away from the painting. He likes listening to Steve's voice. It reminds him of waves against rocks.

"It wasn't officially a town until almost a hundred years later but the original home was built in 1756, so that's what we all say."

Bucky follows Steve as they move through the rest of the exhibit. The room is the size of a small ballroom and is filled with artifacts from throughout the town's history, as well as paintings and photographs of historical events. Steve seems particularly drawn to the paintings. His eyes light up as he discusses the subjects and even the techniques used. They linger longer by the paintings, but Bucky finds he spends more time looking at Steve.

"So that's Brooklyn," Steve says when they close the circle at the wooden doors. "What do you think?"

"It's... quite impressive," Bucky answers, hoping it isn't too obvious that he means Steve and not Brooklyn.

"Don't be a jerk," Steve quips, giving Bucky a light first of the shoulder.

"Punk," Bucky returns. It's only a brief touch but as they leave town hall Bucky feels his shoulder burn where Steve's hand was.

Their next stop is Fury's, the only bar in town. It's not very crowded when they arrive.

"It's never really crowded," Steve tells him. "But Fury does just fine."

"The guy who owns it is named Fury?" Bucky asks, suddenly wary.

"Nick Fury," Steve says. "Be warned, he wears an eye patch."

The facade of the bar is made of gray, fading brick and a large red sign hangs about a black awning. It reads "Fury" in bold script. The bar sits between a laundromat and a sandwich shop.

The inside matches the outside well, all dark wood and low lights. The bar is long and has a commanding presence, while understated tables, chairs, and booths sit off to the side.

Not many people are here. A few patrons sit together in a booth near the back and a few loners are scattered along the bar, but the place is otherwise empty. One man stands behind the bar. Bucky can tell it's Fury because of the eyepatch, but even so it would have been obvious. He's a large, intimidating man with a scowl etched into his face.

Steve gives Fury a quick salute before leading Bucky to a booth. He hands Bucky a drink menu but doesn't take one for himself.

"Hey, Nick," Steve says as the man approaches their table. "This is Bucky. He's new in town."

Fury gives Bucky a short nod but seems wholly uninterested in him.

"What can I get you boys?" He asks in a deep voice.

"Scotch, neat," Steve answers without pause.

"Um, rum and coke," Bucky says.

Fury returns to the bar without another word and silence falls upon the booth. Suddenly Bucky feels shy, even though he's spent the afternoon with Steve. At the exhibit, they had a bugger that kept the focus off of Bucky, but now they sit in a dim, quiet bar and Bucky has no escape. He tries to keep his gaze on the wood grain of their table but the feeling of Steve's eyes on him makes him look up. The aqua blue seems impossibly brighter in the dark bar. Steve looks unwavering into Bucky's own ice-gray eyes. There's a playful glint in Steve's eyes.

"So," Steve starts. "You know every about where I'm from. Do I get to know where you're from?"

Bucky feels his heart clench at the question, but he takes a deep breath. All Steve wants to know is where he's from, that's it. There's no need to launch into his "Top Ten Reasons Why I'm A Failure" list.

"Well, I'm originally from Long Island," he begins, the words leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "But now I live in Brooklyn. New York, that is."

"So you are from Brooklyn," Steve jokes, still smiling as he takes a sip of his drink.

"Just not the right one."

"I beg to differ," Steve's voice has no hint of joking then. "Can I ask what brought you all the way out here?"

_One question at a time, Barnes._

"I just needed a break. I got in my car and drove. I stopped here when I was too tired to keep going."

"I thought people only did stuff like that in movies."

"I have a flair for the dramatic, I guess." Bucky shrugs.

Steve laughs a twinkling laugh, one that Bucky wants to hear again as soon as Steve stops.

"Have you always lived here?" Bucky asks, hoping to shift the attention off of himself. He's leaving Brooklyn soon and he'll never see Steve again so he doesn't know why it bothers him so much, but he doesn't want Steve to know just how pointless his life has become. Steve is funny, smart, outgoing, and gorgeous, among other things. Bucky is barely holding on.

"Does this seem like the kind of place you live in if you aren't born here?" Steve jokes. There's a hint of self-deprecation there. "I went away to school but otherwise I've lived here my whole life."

"Where did you go to school?"

"Pratt Institute," Steve looks away from Bucky at that. The first glimpse of insecurity is slipping through his calm and collected facade. Bucky isn't sure why—Pratt is an amazing art school which means Steve is an amazing artist.

"You're an artist?" Bucky asks, letting an edge of incredulousness into his voice.

"I tried," Steve says with a resigned sigh. Bucky doesn't ask more, but they can both feel questions hanging in the air. "Being a poor kid from the country already sets you apart from the rich kids who were all raised in artistic communities. After I graduated, my ma got sick. We only have each other, I had to come back and take care of her. I got my job at the general store and I started a construction business on the side to pay the bills. Art is more of a hobby now, but I don't do it as much as I used to. Guess that degree was a waste after all," Steve takes a long pull from his drink then. Bucky almost regrets asking. He hates to see the frown on Steve's face, one that's eerily familiar to Bucky.

"A degree from Pratt isn't a waste," Bucky says, smiling when he sees the corner of Steve's mouth turn up. "But I get it. I know all about failure."

"Is that what you're running away from?" Steve asks, his words cutting straight through Bucky's chest.

Bucky looks into his half empty glass as he thinks about Steve's question. He barks out a humorless laugh as he tries to wrap his brain around one easy answer.

"It's not even one failure," Bucky starts. He's grinning even though he doesn't mean to. His old therapist had told him before that he has inappropriate emotional reactions to things, like laughing at something sad to avoid the severity of the situation. "It's just a lot of little mistakes and failures that by themselves don't mean anything at all but when you count them all up you realize you've never done anything right in your life even if at the time you were proud of yourself. It's letting yourself get so bad that on a good day your emotional best is numbness to everything. It's never missing a day of work and then abruptly skipping out on a week because you can't even bring yourself to go back or even to your own home, because it hasn't felt like home in years and you can't take it anymore. God, I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't feel any different. What am I doing?"

Bucky drops his head into his hands. He can't keep the laughter from bubbling out of him even though it all feels wrong.

To Steve's credit, he doesn't look even remotely phased. He looks sad, but not in a pitiful way—more like sad in an empathetic way.

As Bucky comes down from his ranting-induced adrenaline rush, he begins to regret his words. The exact thing he didn't want to happen has happened. In one fell swoop, Steve knows just how fucked up Bucky is and they've barely even scratched the surface. He's sure the evening is over, that Steve doesn't want to be around him anymore. Just one more fuck up to add to the list.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that. I'll go," Bucky says as he moves to leave, shame boiling in his chest. It feels like it's burning him up from the inside out.

"Bucky, don't," Steve says, his voice soft yet commanding. "I don't want you to leave."

Bucky sits back down obediently. He can't make eye contact with Steve, so he stares resolutely at his drink. He imagines he looks like a pouting child.

After a beat, Steve lets out in one breath, "Well, that was a lot, wasn't it?"

Bucky chuckles softly, despite himself. Other than his outburst, he finds it hard to brood around Steve. His pleasant disposition is infectious, even to Bucky's stormy aura.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?" Steve asks.

"I've seen a therapist a few times. I'm not the best at motivating myself to go."

Steve doesn't respond immediately and Bucky fears the worst. He knows Steve is getting ready to tell him to piss off, that he's pathetic. His shoulders slump with disappointment but he almost feels relief. Better to get this out of the way so no one wasters their time.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Steve asks, "Have you ever been on a boat, Bucky?"

Bucky thinks he can hear a hint of Steve's flirtatious tone reappear, but he's sure he's wrong. Not after all that.

"Um," Bucky starts, no elegance in his voice he tries to figure out why Steve is asking. "Every year the owner of my company throws a big party on a huge yacht and invites everyone. It barely feels like you're on a boat though, it's so big."

"Well, I don't have a yacht but I'm still proud of my boat all the same. You're on vacation and you deserve to relax. What do you say we take her out for a spin tomorrow? I have to handle some construction work in the morning, but I'm yours all afternoon."

Bucky likes the sound of  _I'm yours_ rolling off Steve's tongue.

He doesn't understand why Steve wants to spend more time with him after his explosion, but he can't say he's upset.

"I would like that," Bucky finally answers.

It's quiet between them for a moment. It feels nice.

"Can I walk you back to the Moonlight?" Steve asks eventually.

Steve leaves a wad of cash on their table for Fury and leads Bucky out of the bar. The walk back to the motel is silent in a comfortable way. Steve walks so close to Bucky that their shoulders brush the entire time, making Bucky feel electric in a way he isn't sure he's ever felt. It scares the shit out of him.

Steve leans up against his beat-up red truck as Bucky unlocks the door to his room. He keeps his eyes trained on the knob because Steve looks absolutely sinful and Bucky knows he won't be able to stop himself from making a mistake if he stares too long.

"Does four tomorrow work for you again?" Steve asks, looking at Bucky with a soft gaze.

"My social calendar is absolutely packed but I think I can pencil you in."

"Hilarious. You're a jerk, you know that, Buck?"

"Yeah, well, you're a punk."

"Goodnight, Buck."

"Night, Steve."

The sound of Steve calling him  _Buck_ plays over and over in his mind until he drifts off to a peaceful sleep.

——

Bucky wouldn't have guessed it but as it turns out, Steve is a country boy though and through.

Bucky had thought that the busted, rusting red GMC truck is just a symptom of Steve's circumstances, like it's the only thing he can afford and he needs the truck bed to cart around his tools and other construction-related materials (Bucky isn't sure what that is, but he likes to imagine Steve driving around with piles of wood in the back of his truck.)

But it seems that Steve is doing it for the  _aesthetic._

When he shows up outside the motel to pick Bucky up for their boating adventure, Steve is clad in old, dirty jeans, rugged cowboy boots, a greasy  _Odinson's Tire and Lube_ t-shirt, a light flannel, and a worn baseball cap. He looks like the June spread in a "Country Boys of the Eastern Shore" calendar.

Secretly, Bucky loves it. He would have never guessed that rugged country boy chic is his type. But here Steve is in all his truck driving, cowboy boot wearing glory and Bucky can't get enough.

When they climb into Steve's truck, he rolls down both windows and turns on a country radio station, pushing the volume up high.

Bucky has never cared much for country music, but with Steve singing at the top of his lungs and smiling every over at Bucky every time they sing about love, he can't remember why he doesn't like it.

The ride to the dock doesn't take more than ten minutes. The day is starting to cool off, the June humidity finally dissipating after a brief but intense sun storm. Bucky had never seen it rain while the sun was out. It reminds him of Steve. The sun washes the world in a golden hue but the sound of the rain brings Steve's bright blue eyes to his mind.

The docks are nothing special, really just a few wooden walkways surrounded by stringy cattails. At the end of the middle dock sits Steve's boat, flanked on either side by a few other boats gently bobbing up and down in the calm water.

It's not a large boat, certainly nothing like the mega yachts Bucky's always invited to for annual work parties. But it's a glimmering white and seems well maintained. It fits Steve perfectly—not ostentatious, but still beautiful and welcoming.

"She's nice, right?" Steve says as he practically leaps onto the boat. Bucky notices the name painted on the back in beautiful red paint.  _Peggy._ Bucky tries not to let his heart fall at the thought of a gorgeous woman with ruby red lips holding Steve's affections.

"Yeah," Bucky agrees quietly.

"We're not far from the ocean. We can just head that way," Steve says as he takes the wheel. A light breeze ruffles his hair, his bangs blowing away from his face. He's smiling, his eyes directed toward the water. They sparkle just as brightly as the sun reflecting off of the water's surface. A sudden, strong urge hits Bucky then to make himself as physically close to Steve as possible, but he resists and instead stands by the edge of the boat as Steve drives it away from the dock. Bucky can hear the engine working hard just to propel the boat down the estuary.

They don't talk as Steve drive the small boat out to sea, partly due to the volume of the engine and partly because the silence feels comfortable. Bucky is enjoying the warmth of the sun and the touch of the breeze. All the weight he's been carrying melts away and the only thing that exists are the new sensations of sun and air. For the first time in a while Bucky doesn't feel like he doesn't exist, but that he exists and it feels good. He hadn't remembered he could feel this way.

Then they get out to the ocean, Steve turns the engine off, drops an anchor, and pulls a fishing rod from a compartment in the boat. He attaches a brightly colored bait to the hook and lets the line loose into the water. He props the road up in a holder by the lone chair next to the wheel. Then, he moves to sit next to Bucky, mirroring the way Bucky's legs are dangling in between the wide gaps of the railing.

"I could live out here," Steve says, letting his words out on the end of a heaving sigh.

"I didn't know it could feel this good," Bucky admits, although he's only half aware he's saying the words out loud.

"Told you," Steve says with a small smile. "This is just what you needed." Steve knocks his shoulder against Bucky's.

"Yeah," he agrees, lost in the rocking motion of the waves against the boat.

"I know it won't fix everything but... it helps me. I hoped it would help you, too."

"Thank you," Bucky says, turning to look at Steve.

The fishing rod shakes then, and Steve leaps from his spot to grab it and reel in his catch. He hollers as he pulls what Bucky assumes to be a good sized fish out of the water. Bucky is slightly nauseated at the sight of it hanging from Steve's hook. Steve catches his squeamish expression and grins devilishly.

"Is the fish gross, Bucky?" He asks, inching closer with the fish's lip hooked around his finger.

"It's fine," Bucky lies, scooting away from Steve. "That's close enough, though."

"You don't want to hold it?"

"No, I'm good."

"Come on, it's just a fish!" Steve laughs, practically standing on top of Bucky now.

"Steve, I swear," Bucky warns, though there's no heat behind it.

"Oh, what are you gonna do?" Steve demands, free hand on his hip. He flops down next to Bucky, making the boat rock slightly, and shoves the fish as close to Bucky as he can. "He wants to say hi!"

Bucky shoves Steve away but he can't help but laughing. "You're such a punk, Steve."

"Strong words, city slicker," Steve taunts as he gets up to deposit the fish in his cooler and recast the line.

"Oh god, Stevie, you're one bad cultural stereotype after another," Bucky joke, moving back to his previous spot on the boat and slipping his legs back through the rails."

"I'll have you know, I'm not attracted to a single one of my cousins."

Bucky barks out a loud laugh, not expecting beautiful Steve to make such a dirty joke. He leans his forehead against the railing, his laughter making his sides hurt.

Steve sits back down beside him. "I like when you call me Stevie," He says, voice soft then. His shoulder is pressed lightly against Bucky's.

Bucky's laughter dies off as he looks up at Steve, unsure if he heard him right. But Steve is giving him that look, all soft eyes and soft smile. It makes Bucky's heart feel light. His breath catches in his chest. He isn't sure, but it feels like he's the only person Steve has ever looked at this way.

"I like when you call me Buck," He returns. The air between them feels electric but Bucky is paralyzed. He doesn't want Steve to stop looking at him this way and if he moves, if he makes a mistake, it's all over. Steve seems to be able to read all of Bucky's thoughts in his expression and for a moment Bucky thinks Steve is leaning in slowly.

Suddenly the rod is rocking back and forth furiously in its stand and the moment falls flat. Steve scrambles to grab the rod and reel in the next fish.

"Do you know what kind of fish this is?" Steve asks as he places the second catch in the cooler. Bucky shakes his head.

"It's a black sea bass," Steve says. "Just need one more."

"Why's that?"

"Well, we're having them for dinner tonight," Steve says, matter-of-fact.

"We are?"

"Uh, yeah. After we go back in, you're coming over for dinner to meet my ma."

A beat, and then, "I am?"

"Well, of course!" Steve laughs. "As soon as I told her about you, she demanded I bring you over for dinner. I'm in trouble for letting you go two nights without a home cooked meal."

Bucky is floored that a total stranger wants to invite him over for dinner but the more he considers it, the less surprised he becomes. This woman raised Steve, who has been nothing but wonderful to him. Of course she's inviting him for dinner.

"To tell you the truth, Steve, I haven't had a real home cooked meal in a very long time," Bucky says, hoping his playful tone makes the statement less sad than it really is.

"Just don't tell that to my ma," Steve fires back with a wink.

It takes another half hour, but Steve finally catches a third bass (after losing two.) Bucky doesn't mind—he's never felt as serene as he does out on Steve's boat.

By the time they get back in Steve's truck, the sun is just touching the rim of the earth. The sky is already turning a deep orange. Bucky likes the way the tree line becomes an inky black stain against the sky as the evening turns darker.

Steve's house lays ten minutes west of main street. Despite the close proximity, the area couldn't be more different from downtown. Houses are at least a few hundred feet apart from one another and most are surrounded by thick patches of trees.

Steve's dirt driveway is long and lined with gorgeous oak trees. By the time they reach the house, Bucky can no longer see the road they had turned off of.

The house itself is simple but charming. It's a one-story ranch with white siding, red shutters, and a slate-gray roof. The garden around it is like a controlled jungle, with all kinds of bushes and flowers and trees springing up around the cobblestone sidewalk and the house. Bright purples, pinks, reds, oranges, and blues burst out of all the foliage like a vibrant Pollock. A small clearing lays to the right of the house and wraps around the back. Beyond it, a green forest seems to stretch for miles. The yard is trimmed and neat. Bucky has yet to see one thing Steve's touched that isn't beautiful.

When Steve walks through the red front door, cooler in hand, he calls out, "Ma, we're back!"

The foyer opens up into a hallway that leads to the back of the house, presumably where the bedrooms are. To the left is the kitchen and to the right is a living room. Old, dark wood covers the floor. The house certainly feels small, but cozy.

Bucky follows Steve into the living room where he spots a woman in a red armchair.

"Hi, mama," Steve says as he leans down to kiss the woman on her cheek.

"Hello, sweetheart," She says as she stands, Steve giving her a hand. If Bucky listens closely, he can hear a slight twang in Steve's voice but his mother's accent is a bit thicker, like golden honey. She's slight and slender but sturdy nonetheless. Steve is her spitting image, blond and bright.

"Ma, this is Bucky," Steve says, motioning to Bucky in the doorway.

"Dear, so glad you could make it!" She all but cheers as she wraps Bucky in a tight hug. Her head barely reaches Bucky's chest.

"It's nice to meet you ma'am," he says. Steve gives him an exaggerated wink and a thumbs up for the use of the word  _ma'am._

"Well aren't you sweet. You can call me Sarah," she says, giving his arms a squeeze.

Bucky follows Steve and Sarah into the kitchen, where she begins directing Steve on how to prepare the fish. Bucky can tell Steve has cooked fish plenty of times and doesn't need any instruction, but he's indulging his mother as she prepares rice and vegetables. He's a good son.

All the while, Steve and his mother are talking a mile a minute. Bucky chimes in when he can, but in general he just watches them talk. Within a matter of minutes it's clear just how much they mean to each other and that they're friends as well as family. It makes Bucky ache for a family he doesn't have, not anymore.

When dinner is ready, Sarah sets a full plate of food down in front of Bucky. "You need a good meal," she says before giving him a squeeze on the shoulder and moving to sit across from him.

Sarah grabs Steve and Bucky's hands and bows her head. Steve takes Bucky's free hand and mouths "sorry" at him before also bowing his head. Bucky doesn't come from a very religious home and he's never felt inclined to learn more, but he bows his head all the same. He knows to be respectful, at least.

He listens as Sarah thanks God for their food, their family, and their home. She asks that He bless the food before they eat and continue to ensure their health and wellness. Bucky doesn't really believe any of it, but it's a nice sentiment.

"So, Bucky, dear," Sarah starts as they begin to ear. "Steve tells me you're from New York City."

Sarah looks at him expectantly, as if there's more than Steve has told her. There really isn't.

"Born and raised in Long Island, but I live in Brooklyn now," Bucky answers.

"Our Brooklyn must be a lot less impressive," she comments.

"It's beautiful," Bucky tells her truthfully. "We don't have as many trees in the city."

"Ma, leave him alone," Steve says around a mouth full of food. Sarah swats him over the head for his poor table manners. Bucky can't help but smile as he watches. Their love for each other is obvious and unconditional. Bucky remembers how his parents were with sister and before that, him. But he knows what he had and what Steve has are completely different—the love his parents gave turned out to be conditional and that condition was apparently the one thing Bucky cannot nor wants to change.

This is the most Bucky's thought about his family in a long time, but he uses his best therapist impression to remind himself to stay present in the moment and enjoy the company of the people he's with. He listens to Steve and Sarah as they talk and smiles, just happy to be with them.

——

"So what do you think?" Steve asks Bucky in a quiet tone, his arms deep in sudsy water.

"Of?" Bucky asks, vaguely distracted as he inspects what could be a spot on the dish he's drying. After the meal, Bucky had cleared the table and offered to help Steve with the dishes. Sarah had felt it rude to make Bucky help, but he had insisted and eventually Sarah had returned to her spot in the living room.

"Of the weather," Steve deadpans, only pausing in his work to give Bucky an unimpressed stare. "Of my mom, jerk."

"Don't give me that look, isn't it obvious?" Bucky shoots back. "Your mom is amazing. I don't think I've ever met anyone as welcoming or funny as she is. I haven't felt this at home in a long time."

Steve is grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah, she's a great woman."

Bucky nods and goes back to drying the dishes. They work alongside each other in silence until all of the dishes are finished and stacked neatly in the drying rack.

"Ma, we're going out on the porch," Steve calls as he leads Bucky out the side door in the kitchen and down the steps of a small wooden deck where they sit.

Even though the sun has set, it's a warm summer night. A chorus of crickets, frogs, and cicadas all rise up around them, as if they're everywhere and nowhere at once. To Bucky's ears, it sounds almost louder than the din of the city. If he closes his eyes and pictures his apartment, he can almost pretend it's just the _woosh_ of the cars driving by on the streets below. He feels he prefers the cicadas.

A full moon is high in the sky and blankets the world in an ethereal silver blue glow. Bucky can see every detail of Steve's face without any other light. None of this appears real but it's somehow the most real thing Bucky has felt in months, years even. And he thinks he should be scared because he's feeling something, but he doesn't feel that way because it's Steve.

Bucky isn't sure what it is about this man who's practically a stranger and he doubts he ever will know, but Steve makes him feel human. He doesn't judge Bucky or pity him. Instead, he shows Bucky the world, as if Bucky deserves to see it.

"Do you see that?" Steve asks and points to a spot in the sky.

"I'm not sure what I'm looking at," Bucky answers, following the line of Steve's finger.

"it looks like a bowl with a handle made out of stars," Steve says and traces the shape with his finger. "That's the big dipper."

As Steve outlines the stars, Bucky begins to see the shape he's describing. His eyes travel further beyond the single constellation as he realizes just how bright the stars are. He could rarely see any stars in the city, only the brightest forcing their light through to the surface of the streets. But here, he can see what feels like millions of stars, all twinkling bright.

"It's technically Ursa Major, a goddess that Hera turned into a bear when she found her with Zeus, who then cast the bear into the sky," Steve continues. "But it also looks like a ladle."

"What else is there?" Bucky asks."

"Well, there's also Ursa Minor, or little dipper," Steve answers. "As well as Cassiopeia, Cepheus, and Draco. These are circumpolar constellations, meaning they're near the poles and visible all year round." Steve's fingers dance around the black fabric of the night sky as he traces the constellations for Bucky to see.

"Some aren't?" Bucky asks. He vaguely remembers learning about astronomy and the big and little dippers in grade school, but he doesn't remember all of this.

"Well if they're not near the poles, the earth will rotate away from them and then back during the year," Steve says. "It's June, so we can see constellations like Hercules, Lyra, and Sagittarius."

Bucky has stopped looking at the stars and instead his eyes are trained on Steve, watching his open expression as he talks.

"Am I boring you?" Steve asks when he realizes Bucky isn't following his path through the stars anymore. He looks at Bucky, face earnest and almost embarrassed at the thought of babbling on about something Bucky seemingly has no interest in. It's another tiny glimpse into the real Steve that Bucky only gets to see a fraction of. It's like peeking your head around the curtain a few times before you're set to go on and seeing all the people who have come to watch you. Or looking up at the twinkling stars and realizing how big the world is and that  _you're_ somehow miraculously apart of it.

It's exhilarating.

Without a second thought, Bucky surges forward and catches Steve's lips with his own. Steve makes a muffled  _oof_ against Bucky's mouth but he recovers quickly and begins to kiss back with as much force. Steve lets out a deep breath through his nose as he deepens the kiss. The rough glide of their lips against one another's makes Bucky weak in the knees and he presses closer to Steve, shivering as Steve wraps his arms around Bucky in a tight embrace.

Steve laves his tongue over Bucky's bottom lip where he's caught it in his mouth. When he pulls back, he dives back in for a quick peck and nips at Bucky's bitten-pink lip. A soft whine escapes Bucky's throat and he trails after Steve's mouth. Steve smiles and huffs out a laugh, bringing his hand up Bucky's arm and over his shoulder to rest against his neck as he brings their foreheads together. Bucky's skin feels like it's on fire everywhere Steve is touching him.

"Steve," Bucky pleads, his voice barely more than a sigh. Steve smiles, his thumb running lightly over Bucky's jawline.

"I'm here, Bucky," Steve says, his voice rough.

Bucky isn't sure how long they sit there on the porch with the moonlight chasing away the darkness, the crickets, frogs, and cicadas filling the night air with symphonies.

Eventually Steve pulls back, relaxing his grip on Bucky but not pulling completely away.

"It's getting cold, we should go in," Steve says as he stands, extending his hand for Bucky to pull himself up with.

They go back in and Steve helps his mother to her bedroom after finding her asleep in her chair.

"Ready?" Steve asks when he returns to the living room, keys in hand. Bucky's heart falls. This feels like the end of whatever they just started. This is rejection. Bucky knows he shouldn't be upset. He's taken more than he thought he would ever get and more than he deserves in the first place. He can't blame Steve for wanting nothing to do with him. Steve is light, Bucky is dark. The two don't go together.

Steve must read it in his face. "Hey," he says, drawing himself close and cupping Bucky's face in his hands. He kisses him soft and slow. "Whatever you're thinking, stop. I want us to go back to the motel because I don't want to fuck you with my mom in the next room."

Oh.  _Oh._

Bucky stands stock still, his mouth open in a small 'o' shape and his eyes wide. He's still processing when Steve leans down to kiss him again, his lips smiling when he presses them to Bucky's. Bucky kisses back, even though he's still more focused on the  _Steve fucking him_ part.

When they climb in Steve's truck, Steve grabs Bucky's hand and pulls it into his lap. He turns on quiet country love songs.

It feels like it takes an eternity to cross the gravel lot and unlock his room but as soon as Bucky closes the door, Steve has him pressed up against it. His hand slides up under Bucky's shirt. It feels broad and warm where it cradles Bucky's back.

This kiss is hungrier than before. Before it had felt desperate but it was still delicate, like Steve was slowly pulling Bucky apart at every seam. Now it's passionate and fervent and Steve is more commanding. Bucky loves it, loves knowing Steve is going to take whatever he wants. Bucky wants to give him everything.

Bucky runs his hands up Steve's muscled abs and chest and he pushes the flannel Steve is wearing off of him. It crumples in a pile on the floor, forgotten. Steve takes that as his cue and shifts their position, pushing Bucky on the bed. Steve crawls on top of him and presses his face to Bucky's neck, biting and kissing there.

A bolt of electricity runs through Bucky. He turns his face to Steve and breathes in the scent of him.

"Steve, wait," Bucky sighs, pushing Steve up by the shoulders. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Steve's brow crinkles. Bucky is quickly learning this is how Steve expresses his confusion, a cute dimple between his brows.

"Are you? Steve asks, an edge of trepidation in his voice.

"What? Of course I am," Bucky answers. "But how can you want me? You're... perfect and as we both know, I'm just a mess. I don't even know how long I'll be in town. I'm not worth it."

The look on Steve's face is more hurt than Bucky expects. HIs sits up on his haunches and doesn't say anything, running his hands over Bucky's chest and stomach. It makes Bucky shiver.

"Bucky," Steve finally begins, his voice like gray waves breaking against a rocky shore. "Of course I want you. This is the fastest I've ever moved with someone, but that's because it feels right. I know you've got your issues, but I'm not perfect. God, Buck, you're amazing."

Steve leans back down, pressing a sweet kiss to Bucky's lips before kissing along his jaw and down his neck.

Bucky is fighting tears with every fiber of his being. No one has ever said anything like this to him and here is Steve, saying it with no expectation of reciprocation. That, coupled with the physical contact, is overwhelming Bucky, the feeling of being desired and the feeling of pleasure filling him up.

When he can't control himself anymore, Bucky yanks Steve back up and smashes their lips together, teeth clacking. Bucky wants Steve to know just how much his words make Bucky feel.

Steve seems to sense the emotions swirling through Bucky's mind and he starts kissing back with equal force. He runs his hands through Bucky's hair, pulling at as much of the short hair as he can.

"Ah, Steve," Bucky whimpers. He runs his hands up Steve's strong back. Steve is shaking with want and Bucky loves the sound of Steve letting out a harsh breath every time Bucky's hands skim closer to the swell of his ass.

"Buck, please," Steve begs, his voice faltering for the first time.

"Please what?" Bucky teases. The wrecked look on Steve's face is nothing short of delicious.

"Touch me," Steve growls, his desperation dripping from his voice. Bucky finally gives in, wrapping his hand around Steve's thick girth. It's dry but Steve doesn't seem to care, breathing out a satisfied  _fuck_ as Bucky strokes him

Bucky takes advantage of Steve's distraction to flip their positions, rolling Steve onto his back. Steve lets out a low moan, his skin flushed a brilliant red, as Bucky flashes him a sly grin and slinks down his muscled body, nipping at Steve's skin as he goes.

Bucky isn't sure where all of his confidence is suddenly coming from. He tends to be submissive in bed and he likes it, likes letting someone else take control for a little while. He wants Steve to do that, but he also wants to take Steve and make him his. He figures it's because no one has ever made Bucky feel as sexy as Steve does and no one has ever told Bucky the things Steve has. He knows he's never been in healthy relationships but he had never realized being with someone could feel this way.

Bucky takes Steve into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, sucking him down. Steve lets out a strangled moan, urging Bucky on. Bucky splays his tongue out along the underside of Steve's dick and moans when Steve reaches down to touch his hair.

"Buck," Steve huffs. Bucky looks up and finds himself growing even harder at the state of the gorgeous man in his bed. He's flushed a deep red down to his chest and he's heaving in air, his chest rising and falling dramatically. His pupils are blown wide, only a sliver of brilliant blue visible around dark black. His free hand is tangled in his own wildly disheveled hair.

Bucky moans again to see how the vibrations around Steve's dick change expression. He's delighted when he sees the blond's eyes screw shut and his mouth drops into a silent moan.

"Ah—ah, Buck—if you don't stop this will end embarrassingly fast," Steve finally gasps out.

"You're that easy, huh?" Bucky jokes, playfully nipping at Steve's chiseled hip.

"Don't act like you wouldn't love to taste me," Steve shoots back as he sits up and pulls Bucky into a hot, messy kiss. He pulls back just an inch and licks at his kiss-bitten red lips. "But I need to feel you."

Bucky shudders involuntarily at the thought and suddenly he becomes aware of how empty he feels, how badly he needs to feel Steve inside him, too.

Steve flips them again and pulls a small packet of lube from his wallet, discarded on the floor. After spreading it generously on his fingers, he pressed on against Bucky's hole. Bucky hisses as Steve pushes his finger in. The stretch feels wonderful.

"Steve, more, please," he begs, his voice tight with want.

"Since you asked so nicely," Steve says, low and rumbling. He presses a kiss to the inside of Bucky's thigh, nipping as he pulls away. It makes Bucky jump at the shiver running up his spine.

Steve pulls his finger out, mouth twitching up in a smirk when Bucky whimpers. He spreads more lube across his fingers and puts two back into Bucky, scissoring a few times before adding a third.

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Bucky babbles after a few minutes. He feels Steve pause inside him for a moment and then hot breath ghosts across his hip. Steve's free hand flexes where it's resting on his side.

Steve pulls out again. The air is thick with anticipation as Bucky listens to Steve open a condom and put it on.

"Ready, Buck?" Steve asks. Bucky shivers at the nickname dripping hot off Steve's tongue.

"Yes," Bucky hisses. Steve pushes in slowly. It feels amazing and not enough at the same time.

"Bucky," Steve breathes a heavy sigh, like he's never felt anything as much as he feels Bucky, tight and hot and surrounding.

Steve starts moving before Bucky can even ask, like he can read the other man's mind. He starts slow and shallow, but he begins to build up a rhythm, going deeper on each thrust. As he rolls his hips, he leans down and kisses his way up along the column of Bucky's neck, biting when he reaches the sensitive spot under his ear. Bucky flexes his fingers at that, digging his nails into Steve's back. Steve's hips stutter momentarily then and Bucky smiles a toothy, mischievous grin knowing he's discovered something Steve likes.

Steve catches Bucky's lips in a tender, searing kiss and Bucky's heart flips in his chest.

"You're amazing, Buck," Steve murmurs. Bucky turns his head, something like embarrassment flaring in him. No one has ever said that to him, especially not in bed, and it feels strange to hear while he's so vulnerable.

"Never felt anyone as good as you," Steve breaths, hips still rolling like waves. "Gorgeous."

"Steve," Bucky chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. "Steve, Steve, Steve."

He tries to press a kiss to Steve's lips but he's off center, just getting the corner of Steve's mouth. Steve turns his head to kiss Bucky full on.

"I've got you," Steve whispers. It's all so much feeling, good feeling, overwhelming feeling, and Bucky is spilling over himself and Steve isn't far behind, his thrusts erratic as he finishes.

Steve pulls out, pressing a final kiss to Bucky's chest. Bucky grabs a tissue from the nightstand and cleans himself up as Steve disposes of the condom. They come back together on the bed, Steve resting his head against Bucky's chest and Bucky's arm wapping around his back.

"Thank you," Bucky says after he catches his breath. Steve looks up at him, that quizzical crease between his eyebrows again. "I don't think I've ever felt like that."

Steve's gaze is so soft then as he looks from Bucky's eyes to his lips and leans up to give him a long, deep kiss. "You deserve it," Steve says, making Bucky's heart stutter in his chest.

It doesn't take long for Bucky to fall asleep after that, at pease with Steve wrapped up in his arms.

——

Bucky feels the warmth of the sun on him before he really wakes up. He feels boneless and safe and maybe even happy. A thumb swiping gently across his cheek beckons him to awareness.

"Buck," Steve murmurs.

"...time is it?" Bucky grumbles, his mouth half covered by his pillow.

"Little after seven," Steve says.

"Too early," Bucky mutters. He moves to bury his face further into the pillow but Steve laughs and instead pulls him closer. Bucky finally opens his eyes and blinks blearily at the other man.

"Hi," Steve says with a toothy grin.

"You're weird," Bucky says but leans in anyway when Steve moves to kiss him.

"Shall I go get us some breakfast?" Steve asks when they part. Just kissing Steve stirs up so many feelings, emotional and physical, that Bucky hadn't realized he's still capable of feeling. A few lingering kisses make heat rise in Bucky's cheeks.

"Great in bed and picks up breakfast the morning after? You're not real," Bucky jokes. Steve pressed one last kiss to Bucky's red lips before standing and putting on his clothes.

"Be right back," Steve says as he closes the door behind himself. Bucky listens to the truck rumble away before he drifts back to sleep.

He awakes to the smell of hash browns and a hand on his back so feather-light it tickles.

"Steve, stop," he huffs out, trying not to smile.

"Oh my god, are you ticklish?" Steve teases. "Don't think I'm forgetting this. It's just that this McGriddle is calling my name right now."

At the mention of food Bucky finally sits up. They flick on the TV to something mindless.

As they eat, Bucky feels his mind wandering. He can't help hoping this is his future—waking up next to someone who cares about him and brings him breakfast in bed and watches trashy TV with him.

Steve laughs at something on the TV, snapping Bucky back to the present. He realizes as he watches Steve eat that he doesn't have to hope for this to be his future because it's his now and damn it if he was going to let his own mind make him miss it.

So he leans against Steve's back and smiles around a mouthful of hash brown when Steve looks back at him, his face illuminated in the soft glow of the morning light.

——

Bucky decides to use the three full weeks of vacation time he's saved up. He knows he has to return to work eventually and that he would regret using all the time he had saved, but he can't bring himself to leave Brooklyn (Steve) just yet. He only tells his boss that's it a family emergency. What his boss doesn't know won't hurt him.

So Bucky spends his days with Steve. When Steve is at work, Bucky naps or goes for a walk around town or helps Sarah with chores around the house. He learns quickly that the gorgeous garden engulfing the house is all Sarah's doing. She tells him that Steve is absolutely useless in the garden beyond mowing the lawn but Bucky shows a promising green thumb. The praise makes pride bloom in his chest, a feeling so strong it almost hurts. Bucky can't remember the last time he felt proud or, more so, when someone else was proud of him.

He dines at the Rogers home every night and they go out on the boat as often as possible. Bucky is addicted to the feeling of being out on the water with the sun on his skin and the salty air whirling around him. Steve even starts teaching him how to fish and sail.

Steve opens up more with every day they spend together. The confident, charming man he knows slowly shows the sensitive, caring man underneath. Steve doesn't outright say it but it seems like since he came home from college his life has been on hold.

The sex is amazing. Bucky knows what good sex is like, but it doesn't compare to being with someone he actually cares about.

With all of the new experiences in his life, Bucky almost feels like a real person.

A week after they first have sex, Steve asks Bucky to meet his friend Sam at Fury's for drinks. They've been best friends since elementary school and never drifted apart. Even through Steve's time at college and Sam's time in the military, they had managed to stay in touch and when they had both moved back to Brooklyn as changed men, they were still as thick as thieves.

"I'd love to meet him," Bucky says when Steve asks, despite the twinge of insecurity he feels. Would sam like him? Would he look inadequate when Steve is able to compare him to others? Would Bucky embarrass himself?

Steve can sense his anxiety. "Sam is a great guy. You two will hit it off," He says, pressing a kiss to Bucky's temple.

Steve is, of course, right. Sam is funny and warm and interesting. He can talk for hours, which Bucky doesn't mind since he prefers to listen. He finds himself a little jealous at how well Sam know Steve but he still loves hearing embarrassing stories from childhood that make Steve blush down to his chest.

"I'll never forget Steve's face when he realized that baseball was gonna miss his glove and smack him square in the mouth," Sam laughs. "I can't decide if it was more 'oh shit' or 'I just shit my pants.'"

"Sam, come on," Steve groans, burying his face in his hands.

"I still can't believe you were scrawny," Bucky says, his mind still reeling over the information that Steve was 5'3" and 100 pounds until the summer after he graduated high school.

"Scrawny and massively stubborn." Sam adds before taking a swig of his whiskey.

"That I can believe," Bucky shoots back.

"Alright, I'm ready to leave," Steve whines, earning a laugh from the other two. Bucky leans over and gives Steve a sweet kiss just because he can.

"I have to head out anyway. Maria and I are getting up early to go look at a wedding venue in Deep Creek," Sam says as he stands and throws cash down on the table for Fury.

"Isn't this like the tenth place you've looked at?" Steve asks, sliding his hand into Bucky's and locking their fingers. Bucky loves everything about Steve (though he's not going to say that just yet) but holding Steve's hand has got to be one of Bucky's favorite things. His palm is broad and warm. His grip helps ground Bucky when he starts to feel like he's floating and Steve is beginning to learn when Bucky needs that anchor.

"Yeah but so far none will let us bring the dog," Sam answers. The dog in question is a tiny little poodle that maria absolutely loves. Sam loves her too, but wouldn't admit it to anyone. "This place allows dogs and it's in our price range."

They step out into the cool evening air, the world awash in orange sunlight. The sun has almost completely set and the first fireflies of the evening are beginning to flicker yellow and green. Bucky loves the twilight in Brooklyn. In New York, the sun setting doesn't mean much as the lights keep the city just as bright. Fireflies are nonexistent. He loves his Brooklyn, is maybe even starting to miss it a little, but he loves the loud-but-somehow-quiet cacophony of the crickets and the frogs.

"Hey, Rogers," comes a voice from behind them, something ominous in the tone.

Steve and Sam stop immediately and Bucky can practically see the hairs rising on the backs of their necks. He turns before they do and sees a group of three men standing behind them. They all look the same—slicked-back black hair, bulging muscles, dark clothing, and scruffy facial hair. The one in the middle is sneering, staring down Steve with a playfully dangerous glint in his eyes. The other two are also giving Steve a dark look.

Bucky looks at Steve then. Anxiety is starting to burn in his chest.

"Rumlow," Steve says, glaring back with the same intensity but none of the mirth. His jaw is set in a tight line and his shoulder muscles tense. His grip on Bucky's hand tightens.

"Thought I told you to keep that fag shit out of my sight," The man, Rumlow, says, nodding at where Steve and Bucky's hands are clasped. Bucky's skin crawls when Rumlow says fag, memories he tries so hard to forget clawing their way up Bucky's throat.

"I'm sure you did," Steve answers coolly.

"Steve," sam says, clearly a warning. "Let's go." He tries to get Steve to turn around, but Rumlow is speaking again and Steve's solid frame is planted like a tree. Bucky shoots a helpless look at Sam, who only looks resigned to something he knows he can't stop.

"So why the fuck am I seeing you parade around your new thing? It's disgusting." Rumlow spits.

"Steve, come on," Bucky says, turning down the street and tugging on Steve's hand. The tension is palpable and Bucky is not interested in staying around to let the situation escalate.  Steve doesn't move, his steel-edged gaze locked on Rumlow. "Please," Bucky begs, tugging again, and finally Steve turns away. Sam and Bucky heave a sigh of relief at the same time.

"Shouldn't be surprised that whore raised a fairy!"

Before Bucky can even blink, Steve is on top of Rumlow. Bucky hears more than sees Steve's fist connect with Rumlow's jaw. His greaser friends are all shouting but don't seem to be getting involved. When Rumlow lets out a particularly animalistic growl, Sam seems to be spurred into action and lunges for Steve's shoulders. Despite the four inches and twenty-five pounds Steve has on Sam, he's able to pull Steve back and off the other man.

Rumlow scrambles to his feet, backing up to his friends and swiping at his bloody lip.

"Fuck you, fag!" He spits, but makes no move to go after Steve, too afraid after the first punch was thrown.

If not for Sam and Bucky tugging Steve down the sidewalk, Bucky isn't sure Steve wouldn't have turned around and gone after Rumlow again. They don't slow down or look back until they're almost to the Moonlight. Steve hasn't calmed down at all. They go into Bucky's room and Steve paces, his hands on his hips.

"Steve, calm down, man," Sam says, but it doesn't look like Steve even hears him.

"Fuck that guy!" Steve shouts. Bucky jumps involuntarily at the sound. "No on talks that way about my mom. He deserves more than a blood lip. He can't even back up all the shit that comes out of his mouth."

"Steve, he's not worth it," Sam says. Bucky can tell this isn't the first time Sam has had to say that about Rumlow.

Steve just waves him off and continues his pacing.

"You okay with him? I really do need to get home," Sam asks Bucky. Bucky nods and says a quiet goodnight to Sam as he leaves.

"Steve, please sit with me?" Bucky asks, his voice edged with fear. He's not afraid Steve will hurt him, but he's never seen Steve like this. The ferocious person in front of him is nothing like the gentle man Bucky has known. This is another side of Steve, one that Bucky is not so happy to get to see.

Steve doesn't look like he's ready to sit but he does anyway. Some of the tension leaves Bucky's shoulders.

"What was that?" Bucky asks.

Steve doesn't look Bucky in the eyes when he speaks. "Brock Rumlow's been tormenting me since grade school. I can take it. I know he's all talk. But when he says shit about my mom... I just see red."

Bucky places a hand on the back of Steve's neck. He gets it—Steve is fiercely protective of his mother and Rumlow's words were disgusting. But still, seeing Steve so violent leaves Bucky's stomach unsettled.

"You can't go around punching people," Bucky says. All the fight seems to leave Steve then.

"I know," He sighs. He leans into Bucky, who pulls him closer when he sees what Steve wants. "I'm sorry. He knows how to get under my skin."

"It's okay," Bucky says, running a soothing hand along Steve's back. "Sam's right, he's not worth it."

Steve's arms tighten around Bucky's waist. It's comforting to know Steve has calmed down but Bucky's chest feels heavy for him. Being a gay child of an unwed mother can't have been easy in this small town, and Steve has grown up to be a wonderful man. Can Bucky really fault him for letting his insecurities get the better of him when Bucky quite literally ran away from his own problems?

"I'm sorry," Steve says again, finally looking at Bucky. "Thank you."

"For what?" Bucky asks. He can't imagine he's done much, just watching as Steve had wailed on Rumlow.

"For holding me," Steve starts. "Not scolding me for being the asshole that I am. Making me feel better."

Warmth blooms in Bucky's chest. Everything Steve lists is exactly what he does for Bucky every day. It makes him happy to know he can give it back to the only person who's ever seemed to care for him.

"Just no more punching, okay?"

Steve chuckles. "Okay," he promises, ducking into give Bucky a sweet kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the themes of depression and suicidal thoughts get heavy in this chapter.

Bucky can feel it setting in. Nothing good ever lasts for long.

There's a handful of behaviors Bucky does more frequently when a major depressive episode is creeping up on him. He loses focus in conversation, his mind drifting to different places even when someone speaks directly to him. He falls asleep with washing his face or brushing his teeth or even turning the lights off. He interacts with others less and less. He can't get out of bed.

Usually Bucky just lets it happen. What does it matter? He doesn't do anything besides go to work. No one is close enough to him to care if they don't see him for weeks on end outside of the office. He has nothing important to do. He has all the time in the world to sleep his life away. Honestly, it's what he wants.

But now he has Steve and things are complicated.

He doesn't want Steve to see him like this. He wants to be able to spend time with Steve, but his body feels like lead. Moving is a monumental effort. He just wants to disappear into the mattress and let the world slide away.

"Hey baby," Steve chirps brightly as he lets himself into Bucky's room with his spare key. "I thought today after my shift we'd go with Sam to—woah, why is it so dark in here?"

Steve looks around the room, his eyes lingering on the drawn curtains before he turns to Bucky. Bucky can barely see Steve over the mound of blankets he's huddled under.

"Bucky, what's wrong?" Steve asks, moving to sit next to Bucky on the bed.

"Don't feel good," Bucky manages to croak. Technically it isn't untrue.

Steve gingerly places the back of his hand against Bucky's forehead. "You feel a little warm," He muses. Bucky assumes it's because he's been laying under the covers like that since the night before and well into the morning, cooking under all the extra heat.

"What can I get you?" Steve asks. Bucky can see the concern written across his features and it makes his heart hurt. How can he lie to Steve when he's so willing to take care of Bucky? He's just being manipulative, making Steve feel bad for him when really he's just a piece of shit who can't get out of bed.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight against a wall of tears he feels building in his eyes. Steve rubs his thumb gently across Bucky's cheek. No doubt he means to comfort him, but at the moment it feels like fire burning across his pathetic lies.

"I just need to sleep," Bucky finally answers. God, he's exhausted. He feels tired down to his bones of doing this over and over again. Even when he manages to claw himself halfway up the mountain, a rockslide comes and pummels him back down to the bottom. It's hard to get back up every time.

He's tired.

"Okay," Steve says, but Bucky can tell he was hoping to do more. "I'll come over after work with soup and some shitty rom coms."

"No!" Bucky practically shouts, earning a confused look from Steve. "I just mean I won't be any fun and I don't want to get you sick. Go have fun with Sam."

Steve seems hesitant to agree, biting his lip as he thinks. Bucky hopes desperately that Steve will agree. He can't be around Steve and keep up his charade of being sick. He can barely make it through the conversation without bursting into tears. A whole afternoon would be agony.

He wants to be alone, even though nothing terrifies him more. It feels odd being so at conflict with himself. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this or to spend the energy making sure he keeps up a happy facade, but being alone in a pathetic motel room in a bumfuck town where he knows virtually no one is so depersonalizing that he doesn't really trust himself to be alone.

And really, he just wants to sleep.

"Well, alright," Steve sighs. "But I'll be here tomorrow morning to check up on you. Text me if you need anything."

As soon as Bucky hears the door click behind Steve, tears begin to stream down his face. He feels like he's naked on stage at the chance of Steve almost realizing he's seeing the true Bucky, the useless Bucky. But even though he's been dying for Steve to leave, now that he's gone Bucky misses his calming presence so much his chest aches.

He cries silently until he falls asleep, wishing Steve could be there to hold him.

——

Bucky is asleep when Steve returns the next morning. He'd woken up a few times during the day before, but never longer than a few minutes. He distantly feels the bed dip behind him when Steve arrives but he ignores it, opting to fall back asleep.

When he wakes up again, Steve's arm is slung across his waist and his nose pressed to the nape of Bucky's neck.

Although he loves waking up in bed with Steve, he feels nothing. Steve's usually comforting weight now feels like a nuisance, a too-hot blanket that has tangled around Bucky and is impossible to get out of. He clenches his jaw at the wave of sudden anger that courses through him. Steve is just  _cuddling_ him. Bucky stares at the ceiling until the anger fades back into emptiness.

"Hi there," Steve says, noticing that Bucky's awake. "How are you feeling?"

Bucky shrugs. He doesn't feel like talking.

"I took the morning off so I can take care of you, but I have some work to do at the Barton farm later."

It takes everything in Bucky not to breathe a sigh of relief at that.

"Have you eaten anything?" Steve asks. "I brought you some food."

"Jus' tired," Bucky mumbles.

"Get some rest," Steve says, moving to kiss him behind his ear. "I'll be here."

Bucky is asleep before Steve finishes talking.

——

By the third day, Steve is starting to get suspicious.

"Buck, you need to see a doctor."

"'M fine," he mumbles from beneath his blanket mound. He can't remember the last time he got up.

"You're not! You have no energy, you can barely stay awake, you aren't eating. Something's not right."

"I'm sure tomorrow I'll feel better."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You said that yesterday. What's wrong with going to the doctor?"

"Don't want to." Bucky knows he's being immature. He doesn't know how Steve isn't sick of him yet. He's sick of himself.

Bucky doesn't say anything else. He has no good options. If he tells Steve he's fine, Steve will get mad. If he tells Steve what's really going on, Steve will leave him. If he agrees to see someone, he's just wasting time before the doctor exposes him and Steve leaves anyway.

Steve flops onto the edge of the bed, the motion rocking Bucky slightly. "Please say something, Buck. I'm scared."

Bucky feels frozen. There's nothing he can say, but Steve is just looking at him, his face open and scared. Bucky doesn't know how to handle it. No one has ever been there for him when he gets like this. He's been free to waste away, to make no effort to get better. Now he's hurting someone else, making someone else suffer with him. How can he be so selfish? He's known if he let Steve get close it would only end in pain, but he can't stop himself. He never can, it seems. Taking off three weeks of work and making everyone else pick up his slack, just so he can  _sleep in_ ; pulling Steve unwittingly into the shit storm that is his life; even getting to know his friends and family before Steve got to know the true James Barnes. He's a con artist, a selfish manipulator and now there's finally collateral damage.

The last person he ever wants to hurt is Steve. He has to end it now before it gets worse.

"Can you just go, please?" Bucky asks, his voice hushed and shaky with tears.

"What?" Steve asks, confused. Bucky isn't sure if Steve even heard what he said.

"Please," Bucky repeats, the words coming out on the choked end of a sob. He can't hold it back anymore. Bucky is destroying the only real thing he's ever had, crumbling it up in his hands like it means nothing more to him that dirt.

"Buck, what's going on?" Steve is pleading as he moves closer, his hand reaching out to pull Bucky to him.

"Stop," Bucky commands, surprising himself at how forceful he sounds. He sits up then, moving to the other end of the bed. Tears are falling down his face freely now. The hurt, confused look on Steve's face is too overwhelming, along with all the other intense emotions of failure and hopelessness washing over him in tidal waves.

"Did I do something?" Steve asks, pulling his hand back as if he's been burned.

"No, of course not. You're wonderful. it's me, I'm no good. I can't pretend anymore." Bucky can't look Steve in the eyes so he stares resolutely at his shaking hands.

"Where is this coming from?" Steve asks. Bucky is so tired of answering questions. Where did any of this come from? It just happens. Bucky is useless and selfish. He can trick himself once in a while into thinking he's okay, that his life is okay, but reality always comes crashing down around him. THere's no point to try and escape the truth.

But Bucky can't say all of that so he just shrugs. He owes Steve an explanation but he can't bring himself to say it out loud.

Steve is quiet, then. Bucky can see him thinking. He's sure Steve will realize Bucky is right, that he isn't worth the time and then he'll leave him to his awful existence.

"If this is a—a downswing or a... depressive episode, it's okay, Buck," Steve finally says slowly. "Let me know how I can help."

"I just want to be alone," Bucky sighs. He doesn't want to be alone, not really. He wants Steve to wrap him up in his arms and say again that it's okay. He won't do that to Steve, though.

After a long moment, Steve stands up. His face is screwed up like he's in pain, like leaving Bucky is ripping him apart.

"If that's what you really want," Steve says, moving slowly to grab his keys.

"Please," Bucky begs. If Steve doesn't leave soon, Bucky feels he might cave into Steve's comfort.

"Alright," Steve finally concedes. He sounds tired. "Please call me, okay?"

Steve shuts the door behind him with a dull thud. Bucky is finally alone.

Tears continue to stream down his face even hours after Steve leaves. He feels dehydrated and his head is pounding. All the emotion that has been drowning him before now dissipates to numbness but still the tears continue to fall. He doesn't know how he has any left.

He doesn't fall asleep until the sun has set and risen again, when he can't cry anymore. Exhaustion finally takes him like an old friend.

——

The next few days continue the same. Bucky sleeps for long periods of time and then lays awake for hours as the clock ticks on. He tries to make himself eat but food feels like sawdust in his mouth.

Steve comes to the motel a few times, begging Bucky to open the door.

"I won't come in if you don't want me to but... please, Bucky. I miss you." Steve had said the first time.

Bucky never responds. Steve will forget about him soon.

Bucky begins to plan his trip back to New York. He doesn't particularly feel like being anywhere but his vacation time is ending soon. If he was just going to lay in bed, he might as well do it in his own apartment so he can drag himself to work every day.

Even though he knows this, he's terrified to get in his car and go to Brooklyn. He doesn't want to go back to his old life. He isn't ready to leave Steve or Sarah or the boat or the Moonlight Motel or main street. But he has to.

So on Saturday Bucky finally pulls himself out of bed. He makes himself get into the tiny shower. He cleans up his trash, makes the bed, and pays his bill at the front desk. He packs up a bag he's found in his trunk with the new clothes he's bought and the plaid shirt Steve had accidentally left behind.

When he's done, Bucky sits on the edge of his bed. The only thing left to do now is actually leave but he can't make himself get int he car. He tries to imagine himself getting in the camaro and driving out the way he had come, visualizing unattainable tasks like his therapist had told him to do. The thought just makes him panic.

He doesn't think he can leave without staying goodbye to Steve. He doesn't think he can see Steve again and make himself go for good.

As he's hyping himself up, a knock comes at the door.

"Bucky?" Comes Steve's honey sweet voice. "Can I come in?"

It seems life isn't done playing with him yet. Bucky sits frozen in his spot.

"I don't even know if you're alive in there," Steve says, his voice so quiet Bucky almost misses it. He thinks he can hear Steve's voice hitch at the end.

 _Damn_ it.

He opens the door for Steve. As awful as Bucky is sure he looks, Steve looks just as bad. He looks like has hasn't slept since they last saw each other and stubble is growing in on his usually clean-shaven face.

"Thank god," Steve breathes when he sees Bucky's face, unashamed of letting how scared he is show.

Bucky steps back to let Steve in. He looks around the room, no doubt taking in how clean it is and Bucky's packed bag.

"Are you... leaving?" Steve asks, looking at Bucky with glittering blue eyes.

"It's time for me to go back," Bucky says, keeping all feeling from his voice. He needs to maintain his resolve.

"Were you going to tell me if I hadn't come here?"

"I don't know," Bucky says after a long pause. He owes Steve the truth, but this is about as much as he can give.

Steve's expression changes then, from trembling to furious in no time at all. "So you're telling me I spent the last three days making myself sick thinking you had killed yourself and you were just going to skip out on me?"

"It's not like that," Bucky says, although he can't bring his eyes to meet Steve's. If he thinks about it, it's  _exactly_ like that.

"Well, that's damn sure what it looks like!" Steve shouts. Bucky has never heard Steve shout, even when he was rolling on the dirty ground pounding his fist into Rumlow's face. "Why won't you just talk to me, Bucky?"

"You'll hate me," Bucky says, like a petulant child afraid to admit to breaking a precious heirloom.

"I'd hate you if you left without telling me," Steve says, his voice pitched low and serious. He pauses, looking as if there is still so much he wants to say but doesn't know how. Bucky watches as Steve clenches his jaw, the action looking painful.

"That's how my dad left."

Bucky doesn't say anything. It feels like the air has been punched out of him.

"He came to town, just passing through. He stopped here for the night and ended up staying a few weeks. My mom was instantly in love and when he left in the middle of the night... she was heartbroken. And then she found out she was pregnant. She became the town whore overnight. She loves me so much, but that changed her. She's had a hard life just so she could provide for me. She likes you, Buck, but when I first told her about you she warned me not to make the same mistake she did. It turns out I have."

Bucky doesn't know what to say. He hopes the floor will open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

"I hate my dad so much," Steve adds. Bucky feels sick.

"I don't know what to say," Bucky finally responds. "If you have to hate me, hate me. God knows I already hate myself. If I'm the same fuck up as your dad, that's okay. You deserve so much better than me, Steve."

"God, you are such an asshole!" Steve shouts again, although this time he feels more out of disbelief than anger. At least they're finally on the same page. "Why don't I get to decide what I deserve? Since I came home from college, something has always been missing. I don't feel that way when I'm with you, I finally feel whole. Why don't I deserve that?"

"You don't deserve a selfish, worthless jerk like me!" Bucky cries then, finally snapping. "You don't deserve someone who leaves when it gets hard. You don't deserve a waste of space. You deserve someone who can love you and support you and make you happy. I can't even help myself, Steve. You're better off without me and I'm better off dead, but I'll always be too much of a coward to do anything about it. So can we just make this easy? I go back to Brooklyn to live out the rest of my miserable days and you forget about me. Leaving will be the best thing I can ever do for you."

At some point in Bucky's speech, Steve's expression softens. It isn't pity, but Bucky can't tell what he's thinking.

Steve moves to him then, going slowly so that Bucky can escape if he wants to. He doesn't, though. Through the haze of his depression these last few days, he remember craving Steve's embrace more than anything.

Steve barely has his arms around him when Bucky buries his face in Steve's shoulder and lets silent tears fall.

"Bucky," Steve says softly, his face pressed to Bucky's cheek. His grip feels so grounding, so sweet, and it makes Bucky cry even harder. "I want to help you. Let me help you."

Bucky pulls back then and presses a quick, sloppy kiss to the side of Steve's mouth. "I don't know if you can. Or if I can be helped at all."

"I know it's scary," Steve says, reading Bucky's emotions like a book in a way only Steve seems to be able to. He brings his hand up and cradles Bucky's cheek. "I'll help you find a really good therapist. Here or in New York or anywhere. You can get better and I'll help you."

"Why are you doing this for me?" Bucky asks, wincing at how his voice wobbles.

"You deserve to be happy, Bucky," Steve says, so earnest it hurts. "I want you to be happy."

Bucky surges forward and presses his lips to Steve's, feeling overwhelmed by Steve's kindness. He hopes the sweet slide of his lips against Steve's can express it.

"It's been a long time since I thought I deserved to be happy," Bucky says when they break apart. Steve pulls Bucky to his chest, cupping the back of his neck with his hand. Bucky hasn't felt this light and free in a long time, possibly ever, and Steve is right that it's scary but it's also exciting and he doesn't want to give it up for anything.

"I have to tell you one thing," Steve says and suddenly his voice sounds timid. Bucky looks at him curiously. He's seen Steve mad, upset, happy, everything but timid and shy.

"Yeah?" Bucky asks, his hand running lightly up and down Steve's side.

"I was really scared for you, Buck. I didn't know what to do, so I... I called your parents."

Everything around Bucky seems to fade away as a loud rushing sound fills his head and his vision becomes hazy. He feels like he might pass out, if not for the arms holding him in place.

"Buck?" Steve prompts, his eyes searching Bucky's face. He tries to find the words to say but his mouth feels full of marbles. Steve called his parents? How did he even find them?

Steve lowers them to the bed. "Please talk to me," he begs.

"How?" Bucky finally rasps. He can't get out anymore.

"Well I googled your name and I know you're from Long Island. It wasn't hard after that. You never told me how good you are at baseball."

"Was," Bucky corrects harshly, although that is so laughably far from the point. "What did you tell them?"

"That I knew you and you needed help but I didn't know how."

 _They don't know how either,_  Bucky thinks, scoffing out loud. Steve's expression is growing more worried by the minute and Bucky feels bad. It isn't Steve's fault. Bucky has never told him anything but George and Winnie Barnes.

"And what did they say?"

"Well, they seemed very surprised. They're, uh..." Steve pauses, looking terrified to say what he's thinking.

"They're what? They're not interested in help their son because he's a fucking fag? I get it, Steve, you don't have to pretend."

"Um, no," Steve responds, and Bucky can almost see the gears in his head turning. "They're coming here. To Brooklyn. They want to see you."

The rushing sound is back full force. The thought of seeing his parents again is worse than anything else he could imagine. He feels himself shaking all over but he can't stop. He can't see them.

"I have to go," Bucky finally says, standing up suddenly and jostling Steve n the process. "They're probably almost here, I have to leave. I have to get back to New York."

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, getting up and trying to grab Bucky's shoulder. It doesn't work as Bucky is pacing quickly, trying to gather up all his remaining things while his mind is running a mile a minute.

Once Bucky retrieves the rest of his meager belongings in his arms, he storms out of the room and throws everything in the trunk of the camaro.

Steve moves to stand between Bucky and the driver side door. "Bucky, please," he begs, fear evident on his face. Bucky is sure he looks like a man possessed. It's pathetic, really. He's a grown man but he's terrified to face his parents, to even be in the same town as them.

"You're really lucky to have a mother who loves you no matter what," Bucky finally says, his voice turning gravelly as his throat constricts with emotions he had thought he'd buried deep. He sees realization dawn on Steve's face, which quickly turns to sadness. "I can't be around them." His voice cracks as he feels emotion welling up behind his eyes. "I-I need to go back to work anyway, I..."

Steve doesn't say anything as Bucky turns his face away, squeezing his eyes tight against the threatening tears.

"I'll call you when I get back. I just can't. I'm sorry." Steve nods, even though Bucky can tell it's hard for him. Steve presses a quick kiss to Bucky's jaw and then steps away. Bucky ducks into the car and starts it as quickly as he can, peeling out of the gravel lot without another look at Steve. Part of him wants to stop, to stay. It's small, though, and drowned by the screaming in his mind that he needs to get out of town before his parents show up.

He barely notices the familiar route as he drives away. He doesn't notice the charming main street or the beautiful white sign that had once transfixed him. Despite knowing he won't have to face his parents, his anxiety builds as he drives. The last thing he wants to do is go back to New York but he doesn't have a choice, for more reasons than one. His fear gets the better of him and tears begin to spill from his eyes. He feels like he's fifteen all over again, standing before his parents as they level him with shocked expressions when he finally admits the truth.

He feels anxious about leaving Steve, too. Taking off without warning doesn't exactly close a great chapter in their relationship and Bucky knows Steve is scared for him.

He cries hard as he drives, the emotions purging themselves out of him. He can barely see the road ahead of him. He knows he should pull over and wait until he can calm down. It's all twisty back roads and side streets that would be hard enough to navigate even if he could see it. He doesn't stop though, hoping to put as much distance between himself and his parents as he possibly can.

Of course they've come to ruin his life once again. He'd been free of them for seven years and just when things finally turn the corner they rear their ugly heads. He doesn't know what they want to gain from seeing him in person. To make it painfully clear that his life is miserable, all because he's gay? It's a long trip just for that.

Bucky hopes Steve doesn't feel too bad about calling them. He didn't know and he was scared for Bucky. Even though the outcome is disastrous, the intent is sweet. Thinking of Steve's ocean blue eyes and honeycomb hair helps Bucky calm as he drives. He wipes the tears from his eyes and refocuses on the road ahead. When he gets back to his apartment, he'll call Steve and make sure everything is okay between them. He'll clean all the shit he's left untouched for weeks and maybe he'll even look for a therapist in the city. Knowing Steve is by his side gives Bucky strength he didn't think eh could have.

Bucky breathes, out, something like confidence pawing at his chest. It feels foreign and timid but in a good way, a way that only makes Bucky want to cultivate it into something more.

The blue truck comes out of nowhere.

——

_Bucky waits until he gets his license to come out to his parents._

_It isn't on purpose. He's been terrified to take the behind the wheel test, despite the countless hours his dad has helped him practice in their old Buick that will become Bucky's once he's a licensed driver. But it's still a test and his proctor is a large, intimidating man who barely speaks other than to give Bucky instructions. Miraculously, he passes with flying colors._

_If he can face his fears, if he can be mature enough to have a license, he can come out to his parents._

_He's glad he waited to tell them, after the fact. Waited until he had independence._

_Bucky's family has never been very religious. Despite their Jewish heritage, they don't really observe any traditions. But his parents are still conventional people. Got married in their twenties, had two kids before Winnie turned thirty, and owned a quaint house with a green yard and a white picket fence. George is a CPA. Winnie is a stay-at-home mom. They're a picture perfect American family. Except for their queer son._

_His mother cries. George is silent for a long time. Bucky isn't expecting them to jump for joy, but the cautious courage he feels in his chest is plummeting faster and faster with every silent second that passes._

_The only response he gets is from his father. "I won't have a fag for a son."_

_The words are like a knife in Bucky's gut and every echo of it in his head is the knife twisting and pushing deeper. Sobbing silently into his pillow, Bucky doesn't think anything can feel worse than those words. Bucky hasn't ever heard his parents peak ill of anyone beyond neighborhood gossip. His parents don't hate anyone, they're generous. He's never thought he would hear them say something so hateful, especially about him._

_Yeah, Bucky doesn't think he'll ever feel lower in his life. That is, until he realizes his father means what he's said._

_Bucky considers himself lucky that they don't kick him out. He knows it's because Winnie Barnes, PTA president and resident Super Mom, has to keep up the appearance of her perfect family. Bucky is allowed to stay at his parents' house, but for all intents and purposes he's dead to them._

_Where before Bucky was the darling first born, his younger sister Becca is now the jewel of the family. Both Barnes children are extremely intelligent but after The Incident (the only way Bucky can think of his coming out from a safe emotional distance) Bucky's academic achievements go unnoticed while every A+ Becca gets is hung up on the fridge._

_Forget that Bucky is the star pitcher for his school's baseball team. Becca is a burgeoning soccer prodigy and their parents feel in order to "help her grow" they have to go to every practice, every travel game, every team meeting. When other parents ask why his have stopped coming to games, Bucky can't come up with anything better than a meek "they're busy." He knows no one will buy it. His parents haven't missed a game since he started on the varsity team as a freshman. He pitches a no-hitter at his senior night game—the local papers write articles about him for god's sake—but neither of them are there to see it._

_Bucky feels like a ghost in his own home. He starts buying his own groceries, making his own appointments, running errands alone (and pointedly not thinking about how his mother used to love spending afternoons with him running all over town.) If Bucky's parents are aware of his presence, he can't tell._

_They don't make him pay rent but Bucky gets a job at the local grocery store anyway. To pay for his gas, to pay every single college application fee, to afford to go on the senior trip, to have freedom, Bucky needs his own money._

_Bucky fights tooth and nail his senior year in everything he does. His grades, extracurriculars, baseball, everything has to be top notch in order for him to get into college and escape the crushing neglect. He writes every college essay alone and rummages through his parents' things while he's alone when he needs paperwork for the applications. Bucky becomes a master at forging signatures after he realizes he still needs his parents to sign things._

_When he gets the offer from Columbia to play baseball on a full ride, he cries. He doesn't recognize the number calling him but he knows it's a New York City area code and his heart jumps into his throat when the coach says hello. He barely realizes he's babbling an endless stream of "thank you" into the phone._

_He practically skips down his stairs and goes in search of his parents to tell them the happy news. They'll cry with him and hug him tight, congratulating him. They'll go out to dinner that weekend and he'll go on and on about the different halls he can live in and the majors he can pick from._

_As he listens for movement in the house to indicate where his parents are, it hits him. They won't be doing any of that because Bucky had told them he's gay and they shut him out._

_He storms back up to his room and slams the door before his legs can give out._

_Bucky's graduation comes and goes. He gives a rousing speech as valedictorian. The words feel like sand coming out of his mouth as he scans the crowd for his family and finds no one. He had asked his parents if they were coming to graduation. It'd been the first time in months that he had tried to talk to them. Walking up to them in the living room feels like walking to his death. Anxiety burns in his chest because he knows the answer but he can't stop himself from asking. He's learned to live without anyone supporting him, but as he approached his parents he feels like a three year old needing help to tie his shoes._

_When he asks, his father doesn't respond or even look at him, eyes trained on a basketball game. He can tells his mother feels uncomfortable being left to deal with Bucky on her own. She doesn't look him in the eyes._

_"Becca has a game that day," She says._

_"I'm the valedictorian, I'm giving a speech..." Bucky tries, but he can barely hear his quiet voice over the rushing in his ears._

_"The game is three hours away. She can't drive that far by herself."_

_So many comebacks sit on the tip of Bucky's tongue, poised to strike._ _You go to every game with her. I've been doing that and more all alone for two years. You'll never see my speech. I'm your son._

_But then his father barks, "The answer is no." And that's that._

_So Bucky faces his entire graduating class and their families, barely aware he's even speaking. It really, finally hits him that he's all alone in this world. He's known his parents want nothing to do with him and his sister is just a self-absorbed teenager but he'd thought maybe that would change, even for one speech. But he's well and truly alone._

_He finishes talking. Everyone cheers. The principal shakes his hand and claps him on the back. He sits down. it all feels like going through the motions._

_Bucky packs up the Buick by himself. He waits until his parents leave with Becca for a weekend at the beach. He methodically goes through everything in his room, tossing what he doesn't need and carefully packing what he does. He stacks each box carefully into his car so he can fit it all. Technically freshman aren't allowed to have cars with them but Bucky had been able to charm the admissions officer into letting him bring his._

_Once he has everything in the car, he goes back to his room one more time. if someone has ever lived in this room, no one will know. No clothes hang in the closet. Not sheets cover the mattress. Books, trophies, old food wrappers once littered the now empty mahogany bookshelf. He's cleaned the walls so well that any outline left by a poster has vanished. This is all Bucky's life amounts to thus far—an empty room, a zero sum._

_As he puts the key in the ignition, Bucky wonders if he should have left a note about leaving for school. His parents have no idea he's even going to college at all. Will they be worried? He realizes as he takes off down the street that he can't find it in himself to care. If he never sees the Barneses again, he'll count himself lucky. If pretending their only son has never existed is what they want, he will do everything in his power to make it so._

_The first few weeks of college are a flurry of activity. Between getting to know his roommate Scott (who info-dumps a lot about ants and engineering?) to figuring the lay of the campus to getting his class schedule, Bucky barely has time to think about his family. But as he adjusts to his new life, he finds they're all he can think about. He doesn't want to. In fact, he wants his family to be no more than a distant memory. But as he meets more students and hears them talk about home, meets more queer students with loving parents, he finds himself becoming incredibly angry._

_How could his parents treat him they way they had? They held him when he was a baby, put bandaids on his cuts, helped him with his homework, encouraged him to practice at the batting cages, comforted him when cried. Bucky did everything he was supposed to. He gets good grades, he's athletic superstar, he's kind to others._

_And his parents stopped loving him because he wanted to kiss boys instead of girls?_

_Bucky has half a mind to drive through the night back to Long Island just to scream at his parents and make them understand how fucked up they are for what they've done to him. He wants revenge for the meek boy who let them treat like garbage for two years. He only stops himself because the thought of being near those people makes him stomach turn dangerously._

_Without being able to direct his anger at the people who deserve it, Bucky takes it out on everything and everyone else._

_Bucky becomes more withdrawn in his classes and glares at anyone who dares sit next to him. He keeps to himself most of the time, except with Scott. He likes Scott, who doesn't seem to notice or care about the dark shift that occurs in his roommate. Outside of him, Bucky scares most people away and inexplicably, he likes it. He only goes to parties when Scott drags him and even then, he spends most of it drinking himself stupid on the fire escape of whatever disgusting house they're at. He spends most of his time outside of class and studying at the gym, pounding relentlessly into the heavyweight bag. Everyone talks about the "freshman fifteen" but in the Bucky's case he gains fifteen pounds of muscle int he first semester alone._

_When baseball season finally rolls around, Bucky is no longer the charming, likable pitcher he once was. Now on the mound stands an intimidating, stoic beast. Other players can't get a read on him and often get flustered under his unbreaking stare. None of his coaches seem to care that he isn't the same player they had scouted in Long Island. They're winning games and that's what matters._

_On top of school and baseball, Bucky gets a job waiting tables. His scholarship money is enough to pay for school but with summer looming in the distance he knows he needs money to pay for three months of rent. Even a shit hole studio in Brooklyn costs a pretty penny._

_A summer alone in New York doesn't help Bucky's reputation as a gruff loner. While everyone returns to their childhood homes to spend three months with their families and old friends, Bucky spends his days working, working out, and drinking. Scott sets him up with a fake before he leaves for summer. Bucky goes to bars all over the city, oftentimes not going home until the sun is rising._

_As the years pass, Bucky's family begins to fade away, becoming strangers. He thinks of them less and when he does, he feels nothing, like he's watching someone else's life. The anger boils down to apathy and by the end of his college baseball career, he's known as the Winter Soldier, the cold, unflinching terror of D1 baseball._

_Bucky graduates from Columbia with a 4.0, a degree in creative writing, and a job at a sports publication in Manhattan. He can't feel more vindicated that he's done it all without George and Winnie. He'd hoped many nights that the Columbia games would be broadcast and they would see it, see the kid they kicked to the curb pitching like a pro on the TV._

_But as he walks across the stage to get his degree and he hears the polite claps of his classmates, his mind catapults him back to his high school graduation, where a young, wide eyed boy wanted nothing more than to see his parents smiling at him and to smile back._

——

"Sweetheart."

The voices sounds far away, like it's underwater. Bucky ignores it, settling back into the depths of warmth surrounding him.

"Baby please."

The voice is closer this time. It sounds like... Winnie?

A slender hand runs through his hair, as it does every morning when it's time to get up for school.

"Open your eyes."

"Five more minutes," Bucky slurs, his voice thick from sleeping. His mom always remarks that he sleeps like the dead and one of these days she's going to dump a bucket of ice on him instead. He knows she's just joking but the thought is enough to make him move to get up and get ready for school.

Wait.

Bucky isn't in school, is he? He works as a technical writer at Stark industries and he hasn't talked to Winnie Barnes in years. He groans, his mind clouding with confusion. He doesn't know where he is or what's going on but he doesn't want to see his mom and suddenly everything hurts and he just wants to go back to sleep. He tries to open his eyes but they're heavy. When he opens his mouth to speak his tongue feels thick in his dry mouth. He groans again, this time more strained.

"Hey, it's okay," comes another voice, deeper, smoother, warmer. "Shh, you can go back to sleep, Buck."

Only one person calls him Buck. He knows that. And he knows that he likes that and he likes the person who calls him that. But his head hurts, his chest hurts, everything hurts, he's confused, he can't remember—

"Go back to sleep," the deep voice says again.

The words roll over Bucky like warm waves breaking on the beach. So he listens.

——

The next time Bucky comes back to consciousness, there's a hand on his chest. He lets his head roll to the side and fights to open his eyes. They're heavy and he just wants to close them again but someone is touching him and he needs to know who.

A mop of messy blond hair swims into his vision first and slowly Steve's figure becomes clear. He's slumped over in a chair, his upper body resting awkwardly on Bucky's bed. One arm is smashed under his cheek and the other sits on Bucky's chest, his fingers curled in the white fabric of the gown Bucky is clad in.

"Steve," he says, voice barely above a whisper. It comes out a jumble of sounds, his mouth dry and tongue feeling too big. Somehow though Steve stirs and looks up at Bucky immediately, blinking quickly to chase the sleep away.

"Oh, Buck," Steve sighs, leaning further over the bed to place his hand on Bucky's neck and bring their foreheads together. Steve holds him there and breathes in deeply. Bucky can hear Steve's breaths quivering. He doesn't understand what's happening.

"What..." he trails off, unsure of what to ask. His brain is processing the onslaught of information but it's slow.

"Let me buzz the nurse," Steve sighs, reaching over and grabbing a remote.

"Nurse?" Bucky asks. His head is hurting more and more by the minute.

"You're in the hospital, babe," Steve says. Meeting Bucky's eyes seems a difficult task for Steve and when he does, all Bucky can read is profound exhaustion. "You were in a bad accident."

Bucky swallows hard, his throat burning at the motion. An accident? He tries to remember but the last thing he can recall is laying in his bed at the Moonlight.

"When?" Bucky asks. Just then, a nurse bustles into the room. She has bright eyes and a soft smile.

"Oh, Bucky, I'm so glad to see you awake!" She says, as if they've known each other for years. Her voice has a soft twang to it and it makes Bucky feel comforted, like he's somewhere familiar at least. "Steve here has told me you've got the most beautiful eyes. Seems he's right."

She checks the monitor and bags hanging by his bedside. "How are you feeling?"

Bucky is sure she can see a number of thoughts flash across his face as he tries to decide which of the many feelings are the most important to note first. His whole body aches and his head hurts. He's tired and confused. A little bit scared. But most of all, his throat is on fire.

"Thirsty," he finally answers. He'd been hoping to manage more, but the fog in his mind is making speech hard.

"Steve, can you pour him a cup and help him drink?"

Steve responds quickly, grabbing a pink pitcher from a table and filling a matching pink cup. Bucky wants to cry at the beautiful sound of ice and water plopping the cup. Steve puts a straw in the drink and waits as the nurse—her name tag reads Sharon—positions the bed so that Bucky is sitting up.

"Are you in any pain?" Sharon asks.

Bucky nods his head and takes the cup Steve offers to him. The cold water feels like heaven on his throat.

"Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?"

"Eight," he croaks when he's finally able to tear himself away from the water. Steve motions to the pitcher, asking if he wants more, but Bucky shakes his head gently. The fog is starting to clear from his mind despite the pain and as he becomes more lucid, he becomes more worried.

"Alright, your doctor will be here in just a moment to speak with you, but after that we'll start another dose of morphine," Sharon says, her face an ever-perfect mask of cheer. Bucky knows she's trying to keep him calm but it's starting to scare him. He's in the hospital and in pain and they're giving him morphine. Something isn't right.

As if on cue, a woman in a white coat steps into his room. Sharon steps out, asking the doctor to let her know when she's finished talking with Bucky.

"Good morning, Bucky," the doctor starts, as cheerful as Sharon. "I'm Doctor Cho, your surgeon." She pauses, taking a deep breath. Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky's right hand in his. "I won't mince words. You were in a car accident and I am very sorry to tell you that your left arm had to be amputated below the shoulder."

All of the blood seems to drain from Bucky, then. He almost doesn't believe her but he feels Steve's grip on his the right hand tighten as he looks down and sees nothing where his left arm should be. Dr. Cho must read something in his face because she's at his bedside with a trash can as soon as he leans over and starts heaving up the contents of his stomach.

When it seems like there's nothing left, he leans back heavily on his bed. Everything hurts. His head, his throat, his body, his arm. Or well, shoulder, now.

"What happened?" He asks. None of this feels real.

"A man in a truck lost control when going around a bend. He spun out and you were caught in it. Both of your cars fell over the slope of the road and landed at the bottom of a hill. Your arm was pinned for a long time and when the firemen were finally able to pull you out, it had been cut very deeply by a piece of metal. There was nothing we could do."

Dr. Cho continues talking about his care and when he'll be able to leave, but Bucky isn't hearing her anymore. He doesn't even feel like he's in the hospital room at all and instead is falling down an unending black hole. Just when he felt he was finally going to get his life together, when he was ready to make a change, he lost his fucking arm in a freak accident. He's almost so mad he could scream. Maybe he wasn't meant to have anything good in his life. One person couldn't experience everything he has if they were meant to be okay.

Dr. Cho leaves. Bucky barely acknowledges her, lost in his mind, but Steve says a quiet goodbye

It's silent in the room as Sharon shuffles back in to administer a dose of morphine. His right hand is still clasped in Steve's grasp and it's the only thing keeping Bucky from floating entirely away.

"Buck," Steve says timidly when Sharon leaves the room. "How are you doing?"

It takes monumental effort for Bucky to turn and look at Steve but he feels better for it, seeing Steve's ocean blues. "I don't know," he says truthfully, his voice hitching at the end. His whole body hurts and he can feel the effects of the morphine overtaking him quickly. "Wanna sleep," he continues, slurring.

"Just sleep," Steve tells him. "I'll be here."

Bucky listens.

——

When Bucky wakes again, his head is finally feeling more clear. He's still in pain but it isn't as all-encompassing as it was before. His eyes drift immediately to his shoulder. Beneath his thing hospital gown he can see it's wrapped in thick gauze. It all feels so fake, like if he thinks hard enough he'll be able to feel his arm even though it isn't there.

Steve is sitting in the chair beside Bucky, his eyes trained on his phone.

"Hey, Stevie," Bucky says. Steve looks up and him and immediately his face breaks out in a smile. Bucky doesn't care where he is or what's happening—that smile makes his heart light.

"Thirsty?" Steve asks. Bucky shakes his head no. It's quiet between them for a moment, both exchanging soft looks. Despite the wires, the sounds, the pain, the  _missing arm,_ Bucky feels incredibly soothed by having Steve at his side. This is how it's always been, Bucky thinks. Even when they were perfect strangers, something about Steve had felt grounding. Like the anchor on  _Peggy,_ Steve keeps Bucky from floating away and Bucky, like the waves on the sea, changes the tide of Steve's monotonous life.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asks.

"Like shit," Bucky says truthfully. Although Steve can't understand, he nods.

"We'll figure it out, Buck," Steve says. His words make Bucky's heart hammer in his chest. Bucky can't believe this wonderful man has chosen Bucky to cherish. He knows he doesn't deserve it but he wants to be selfish, has maybe even earned it a little. Bucky doesn't know how to convince Steve of how much he means to him, but he hopes squeezing his hand tight is a good place to start.

"I don't mean to make things worse, "Steve continues. Bucky feels anxiety bloom in his chest. "But your parents are here."

Bucky's heart skips a beat and then speeds up, as evidenced by the frantic beeping of the monitor. Steve waves Sharon off when she peeks in the room to check on her patient.

"Bucky, they were already on their way here before the accident anyway," Steve adds. "When the doctors told us how bad it was, I couldn't do it alone, I—"

Bucky pulls Steve's hand up and places it on his chest. He takes a deep breath, watching as Steve follows along. It's rare to see Steve scared. The only other time Bucky has ever seen Steve like this is when Steve had confronted him about his depression. He doesn't like watching Steve shoulder through everything as if he doesn't have anyone else to lean on.

"It's okay, Steve," Bucky tells him. "I'm not mad." Steve lets out a deep breath. Bucky can see just how exhausted he is. Dark bags hang under his eyes, which are usually bright but now seem quite dull. His whole body sags in a way Bucky has never seen it. He's the one who lost a limb but he can't imagine how bad the past few days have been for Steve, sitting helplessly by as he watched Bucky fight for his life.

"I know now why you didn't want me to call your parents," Steve tells him. "Buck, I am so sorry I did that before I asked you. I had no idea. But you need to talk to them. Once you were out of the woods, they took me to dinner and explained everything. Your dad  _cried_ when he talked about how they treated you."

Bucky's breath hitches at the thought of seeing his parents. His walls are slamming up. His first instinct is to see his parents' remorse as performative, just to save face. They don't give a fuck about Bucky but they do care about what others think of them.

But he's tired and weak and Steve is giving him irresistible puppy dog eyes.

"Say the word and I'll tell them to leave," Steve offers.

Bucky lets out a long breath. "No," he says, surprising himself. "I've been running my whole life. Running from my parents, from myself, from you. It hasn't gotten me much. It's time to stop running."

Steve's responding smile is the sun.

——

Bucky's parents edge slowly into his room, his mother first and followed closely by his father. Steve sits resolutely beside him, grasping Bucky's hand tightly. Steve had offered to give them privacy, which Bucky shot down immediately.  _Anchor._

When they make eye contact, Winnie sweeps through the room and hugs Bucky as tight as she can without disturbing his shoulder. Bucky's muscles tense at her touch but he lets her hold him. According to Steve, she's been a wreck since they first meet each other in the waiting room.

George hangs back but Bucky can see a tirade of emotions play out on his features.

Winnie finally pulls herself away and pulls up a chair on the left side of the bed. She sits as close to Bucky as she can and is careful to keep her hands in her lap.

"First things first, the ground rules," Steve says, his voice edged with authority. "If I feel in any way this will be detrimental to Bucky, you guys are done. He says he's done, we're done."

Bucky shoots Steve a grateful look. Just being in the same room as his parents make him feel like that scared fifteen year old boy again. He doesn't know if he could stand up to them if it comes to that. Knowing Steve is there with him makes him feel strong.

George nods at Steve's condition before turning to his son. "Bucky," he says, his voice already thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

Bucky worries his lower lip as he tries to work out what to say. So many thoughts are running through his mind and he can't organize them into anything logical. His parents look old, or at least old compared to what he remembers they looked like. He imagines he must look old to them, too. They both have more wrinkles than he remembers and his father's beard has become more salt than pepper. They haven't seen each other since Bucky was just a boy and now they're meeting seven years later, one less limb between the three of them.

There's so many questions Bucky wants to ask but he can't decide what's most important.  _Why now? Why are you really here? Do you still hate me for being gay? Is Becca here? Can you please leave? Do you still live in the same house?_

Finally Bucky decides he just needs to say something so he asks, "What changed?"

"Your sister," his mother says, finally speaking. Her voice sounds rough, like she's been crying. "At her college graduation, she told us she missed you."

Two years ago. Bucky had just started his technical writing job at Stark industries.

"She wouldn't speak to us after that, except to ask where you were. We tried to ignore it, like everything else," George continues. Bucky's throat tightens at his words. "One day she just exploded. She yelled at us, lectured us, wondering how we could hate you just for being gay."

"After that, I started doing some... research." Winnie says. She sounds scared, like any of her words could make Bucky or Steve shut her down. "I found a local group for parents of gay children. They helped us both learn."

Bucky doesn't know what to say. Part of him wants to scream. Why couldn't he be enough when he came out? Why would they only listen to Becca? It feels wrong to be upset that his parents have come around to the idea of him being gay, but he can't help it. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't supposed to lose his childhood this way.

"That was two years ago," he finally says. it feels safer than anything else he wants to voice.

"We tried to find you," George says. "The trail died after you graduated from Columbia. Then we thought maybe you were better off without us. When Steve called, we had to come see you."

"And you guys don't care? That I'm gay?" Bucky says with a defensive edge to his voice.

"Nothing you could do would make us love you less, even if we've lost that right to love you," his mother says. Her words cut deep through Bucky. He's never thought of himself as a person deserving of love. He'd never seen loving him to be a right that someone had. If anyone has earned that right, it's Steve.

"Your mother and I are proud of you," George adds. "I am so sorry we missed all of your baseball games."

Pride blooms tender in Bucky's chest. He had been a damn good baseball player and it was the only thing he held onto when his parents rejected him. Knowing his games would be on TV and his parents would be forced to watch him was the only revenge he had.

Bucky gives Steve a look. He knows what he wants to say and he needs the final burst of strength to do it. Steve gives him a nod.

"I don't think I believe either of you," Bucky says. He watches as George and Winnie's faces fall. "I don't think you'll ever understand how it felt. I was so scared and confused. I have no self worth. It's hard to forget everything just because you two have changed your mind. But I want to believe you and maybe one day I might forgive you. We're not there yet but... I think I want to."

His parents both nod and it seems that they do respect his decision. They reluctantly leave his room, promising to bring him dinner that isn't hospital food later. When they finally leave, he lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Steve," he says, his voice wobbling dangerously. Steve climbs into bed with him immediately, being careful to not disturb any wires.

"I'm so proud of you," Steve tells Bucky as he pulls him close. Bucky leans into Steve's warmth. He doesn't realize he's crying until Steve brushes the tears off his face. They lay like that, for how long Bucky isn't sure. He's tired and he's in pain. Steve looks equally drained and Bucky realizes not for the first time how hard this must be for him. Bucky makes a mental note that at the very least he owes Steve a nice dinner and blow job whenever he gets out of the hospital.

Finally the pain feels worth it, like maybe, just maybe, Bucky has something to live for.

——

They release Bucky into outpatient care once he's regained some strength. Sarah picks him up that day, to make it unmistakably clear to him that he's welcome at her home until he's back on his feet. It almost even feels like an order, but it's one that Bucky is all too happy to obey. When he had laid awake at night, unable to sleep because of the pain in his shoulder, he fantasized about staying in Brooklyn with Steve. The well-paying job, the fancy apartment, none of it means anything to him anymore.

When he'd asked Steve if he'd like Bucky to stay, he remembers feeling as nauseous as he did when Dr. Cho told him about his arm. In typical Steve fashion, though, he'd smiled as bright as he could and kissed Bucky long and slow.

He's a shivering mess by the time he and Sarah finally reach the Rogers homestead, indiscernible memories of screeching rubber and shattering glass echoing in his mind. He barely remembers Sarah lifting him out of the car and ushering him into the guest bedroom at the back of the house. When he returns to the present she's left a glass of water and two pain pills on the bedside table. Long after Steve goes to bed that night, Bucky finds Sarah reading in her arm chair and he apologizes profusely. She shushes him and only asks what he's doing out of bed when he should be resting.

Bucky's recovery isn't easy, and he hadn't expected it to be. Physical therapy is difficult and often painful. His newfound fear of cars doesn't help at all, as his physical therapist's office is half an hour away from Steve's home. When Steve isn't working he takes Bucky on his motorcycle which helps. it's not perfect but at least he doesn't feel trapped by the roof of a car.

And Steve looks pretty hot on his bike. That's a plus.

The only thing more demanding than his physical therapy is his mental therapy. It's the one condition he sets for himself in order to stay in Brooklyn with Steve—go to therapy. At first he's able to avoid the deeper issues; the trauma of his accident is enough to fill a few sessions. Marcia challenges him to spend time in a car every week. It doesn't always have to be moving and it doesn't have to be for long, but it's his homework every week. It sucks and he hates it, but Steve encourages him to try. Perhaps the worst part about it is how ashamed of himself he feels. 

Even children and dogscan ride in cars just fine, but Bucky can barely sit in a parked car for more than ten minutes. Marcia tells him it's only reductive to judge himself in his recovery but it's easier said than done.

Once they've made progress on his accident, Marcia starts to probe deeper. He's hinted at his depression and now she's ready to pull on the thread, peel back the curtain on Bucky Barnes. This he hates most of all. Steve had got a glimpse of it that day in the motel **—** Bucky doesn't remember most of the conversation due to the amnesia he suffered from the accident but from what Steve's told him, it wasn't Bucky's finest hour.

Still he's never bared himself so completely to another person. It's somehow easy and difficult to do so with his therapist. Once he gets started, it's hard to stop himself from confessing every thought he's ever had to Marcia. Things he never wanted to say out loud spill from his lips before he's realized he's said them. By the end of it he feels exhausted and raw, and the rest of his day is typically spent in bed in the dark. If Sarah's gardening by the time he gets back from therapy (which is thankfully walking distance from the Rogers home) Bucky will silently join her and he loves her for the acceptance and company.

Throughout it all, Bucky's parents try. They stay at the closet hotel they can find, which is still a good hour-drive from Brooklyn, because Bucky had the decency to tell them to avoid the Moonlight. They offer to drive him places, take him to dinner, anything they can think of that can be interpreted as a display of affection. Bucky says to almost all of it. It's easy to buy things and then fuck off back to Long Island, never to be heard of again. He does, however, let them take him to dinner once he's feeling stronger, a few weeks after he's been released from the hospital. it's an awkward affair. Winnie is teary-eyed through the whole evening and George can't stop fidgeting. He stutters through an apology over a steak he barely touches and Winnie can only silently nod along in agreement. By the end of it, Bucky's exhausted and ready to go home, but he feels like he understands his parents as they are now—good people, ready for the chance to right a wrong.

They visibly deflate when Bucky tells them he's decided to move to Brooklyn but they understand his reasoning. They at least know they have no leverage to convince him to stay and therefore don't attempt to. His father takes over the move-out process for him, and for that Bucky is grateful. Within a month of their return to New York, all of Bucky's belongings have been shipped to Brooklyn. He gets rid of most of it, but he's grateful to his father for getting him out of his lease early at night charge.

Two months into therapy Marcia tells Bucky she'd like his parents to join. He rejects the idea immediately. Just the thought of facing his parents in such an intimate setting makes his heart rate jump.

"It's not optional," Marcia tells him with a mischievous grin, much to his dismay. He feels like a child when he tells George that evening what Marcia has ordered. He viscerally remembers begging his parents to come to his high school graduation. Winnie had brushed him off and George hadn't even turned to look at him. He'd felt like nothing.

George continues to talk but Bucky doesn't hear most of it. He can't even recall what he'd said once he hangs up the phone. He spends the rest of the night plastered against Steve's side in Steve's bed, some show on TV and Steve's hand rubbing circles on his back.

At the next session, Marcia FaceTimes George and Winnie on the large monitor in her office. To their credit, Bucky's parents look as uncomfortable as he feels, despite being situated on a plush couch Bucky's never seen before. He recognizes the living room even though they've painted it blue. It used to be beige.

"I never thought I'd see the living room again," Bucky admits in a hushed voice when Marcia asks him how he's feeling. He can't bring himself to look at his parents while he speaks. "It's like seeing someone I thought was dead."

The rest of the conversation is just as bizarre. Marcia starts by explaining to Bucky's parents the objectives of this group therapy session and gives them details regarding Bucky's care that he's permitted her to tell them. There's a designated portion for Bucky to say whatever he wants, uninterrupted. He'd thought beforehand about what he might go over and couldn't think of anything he felt comfortable telling his parents. But as soon as Marcia lets him speak, he Bucky find he can't stop. He tells them how alone and rejected he felt; how he only felt alive in college when he was playing baseball; how they ruined his childhood; how he hates himself. When Marcia allows George and Winnie their turn, the first few minutes are full of apologies. It hurts when his parents say they love him, but he can't explain why. It feels fake and he can't handle fake promises of love.

That night, Steve takes Bucky apart with his hands and his mouth and somehow it's one of the best days Bucky's had in a long time.

Steve is an immovable rock against Bucky's choppy tides. Even on bad days, when Bucky is tumultuous and gloomy, Steve's lone light signals him to shore. Bucky asks Steve frequently if this is what he wants, if a crippled, ill creature is really what he wants. On those days Steve takes him by the hand and kisses him slow.

They frequent Steve's boat, long after the summer sun has gone and the air has turned chilly with autumn winds. Steve must secretly be getting sick of the boat, but for once Bucky doesn't care if he hates it. Even when they're old and gray he'll be making Steve take him to the ocean.

They have their hard days. Living together, in Steve's mother's house, while Bucky is healing takes its toll. One night as thunder rages overhead, heavy rain shaking the house down to its foundations, Steve tells Bucky that he's in constant fear of Bucky leaving. The admission makes Bucky feel cold all over. Steve cracks so infrequently but as he stands before Bucky, hugging himself tight, his features illuminated by white lightning, Bucky can see how delicate the man truly is. Bucky gathers Steve up in his arms and whispers promises into his hair until they both fall asleep. Promises to love him, promises to stay, promises to hold him, they all slip out and Bucky means every single one.

The next morning the ground is waterlogged and muddy. They eat breakfast on the porch, birdsong all around him. Bucky looks up from his plate to see Steve doodling a bird on a napkin, the tip of his tongue poked out in concentration. Bucky could look at him forever this way—bathed in sunlight, doing what he loves.

After that, Steve starts filling sketchbooks weekly. The floodgates have open and when Steve isn't at work, he's drawing. He draws everything he can think of and Bucky is sure that by the end of October, Steve has drawn every item in his mother's house. His supplies overtake the spare bedroom that was Bucky's when he'd first gotten out of the hospital. Bucky buys Steve an easel because he loves seeing Steve follow his passion. After Steve balks at the gift, he takes up painting again. Bucky poses for Steve a handful of times and blushes down to his chest when sees the version of himself that Steve does—beautiful, confident, missing one arm but still perfect.

One morning in late December, weak sunlight filtering through his blinds, Bucky wakes up to the thought that he's okay. After everything, losing his arm, leaving New York, reconnecting with his parents, he's  _okay._ He practically giggles when he tells Marcia that. It's strange and addicting and Bucky thinks that he may actually deserve to be happy.

In the new year Bucky decides it's time to go back to work. He thinks about applying for an easy job in torn, or a technical writing job like before, but when he whispers to Steve one night that he misses writing about sports, Steve won't let him apply to anything other than sports journalism jobs. Bucky ends up filling the position of sports writer at the county newspaper. He covers all facets of sports in the area but his favorite ends up being high school baseball. Perhaps the least glamorous of any sports beat, Bucky loves the energy the kids bring to the game. A few of the local coaches recognize Bucky from his college days and somehow, halfway through the season, Bucky's got a job offer as an assistant coach at the most prestigious high school team in the county. He has to stop writing about high school baseball to avoid a conflict of interest, but the only thing better than writing about baseball is playing it.

On his first day he feels sick, wondering why he thought he could do this, a one-armed freak who hasn't played baseball in five years. But when he steps out onto the field, he sees respect written across every student's face.

The team goes on to win the state championship that spring.

The heat of early summer beings to set in. Trees are blooming early this year.

"Let's take the boat out," Bucky says one afternoon as he and Steve are walking down main street. They climb in Steve's truck and rumble through town, passing the Moonlight Motel on their way. Bucky stares at it as they pass, feeling affection for it the way he would an old friend. The fading exterior, the dusty gravel lot, the flickering street lights—it all looks stunning to him.

The water is calm when Steve drops the anchor in the sea. The sun is approaching the horizon slowly, twilight not far off. Bucky sits at the edge of the boat, his legs dangling off the port side. Steve sits quietly beside Bucky and leans his head on Bucky's shoulder. Water laps against  _Peggy,_ a quiet lullaby as the boat rocks back and forth in the waves. Eventually they'll have to go back to shore, back to real life where things are messy. George and Winnie want to visit soon with Becca. The Rogers home is starting to feel small and Bucky has been dropping hints to Steve that he's ready to move out. Driving is still difficult, even if it's more of a dull ache than a frenzied scream. It's life and it's messy.

For now, though, they'll sit on the boat and watch the sun set. It will turn the sea a golden-orange, like fire on water. Bucky will turn to Steve and tell him how happy he is to be here with his best guy. Steve will laugh and kiss him and they won't stop until the air turns too cold to stand. Bucky will say he'll wish he brought a jacket and Steve will tell him he says that every time.

And they'll be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed :)


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